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Ill Let real money 
you can learn to play 

iJus east^ ^ascinaim^ i4)a^ 



Y es, I mean actually play real 
music — classical numbers or 
jazz — so that you'll be able to. en- 
tertain your friends — to be popu- 
lar everywhere. 

And what’s more, you won’t 
nood a private teacher. You’ll learn 
all by yourself — rijrlit in your own 
home. And be^5t of all the cost is only 
a small fraction of what it used 
to cost by old-fashioned methods. 

Why am I so sure? Simply because 
more than 000.000 other men and 
women, boys and /tirl.s 
no more clever — no 
more sifted than you 
•have learned to play 
by this modern sys- 
tem. 

No Special Talent 
Required 

Learnins to play 
this U. S. School of 
Music w’ay is easy as 
A-B-C. No special tal- 
ent is re(juired — no 
[)reviou8 musical train- 
ing. If you can whistle 
a tune you can learn 
to play by this simple 
method — ouicker than 
you ever dreamed pos- 
sible. There’s nothing 
frioky about it — no 
complicated theories — 



nothing to memorize. You learn to 
play from real notes — the same as 
those used by accomplished musi- 
cians. 

And w’ith this shortcut system 
you don’t have to spend hours prac- 
ticing tedious scales or monotonous 
finger exereises. Instead you have the 
fun of playing real tunes — right 
from the very beginning. And almost 
before you realize it you are able to 
pick up any piece of music and play it. 

Clear as Crystal 
The best part of it all is that it 
is so simple — so crystal clear — so 
easy to understand. It’s 
all right b(‘fore you in 
print and pictures. 
First you are toJd how 
to do a thing. Then a 
I>ieture 8 /I 0 W 8 you how 
to do it. Then you ac- 
tually do it yourself 
and hear it. It’s fas- 
cinating fun. too — 
practicing becomes a 
real int<*resting pas- 
time instead of a 
wearisome task. 

Free Demonstration 
Lesson 

So that you may see 
for yourself how easy, 
how’ pleasant it is to 
learn by thi.s modern, 
simplified method, the 
U. S. School of Music 



has prepared an Illustrated Booklet 
and typical Demonstration Lesson 
which are yours for the asking. 
They explain fully the principles of 
this remarkable method and how it 
enables you to become a popular 
musician in a surprisingly short 
time, at a cost of only a few cents 
a day. 

If you are ri*ally serious about 
\vanting to learn music — if you 
honestly want to become popular- - 
to have the pleasure of entertain- 
ing your friends — take this first 
step fodn;/— send for this Free 
Booklet and Free Demonstration 
Lesson. Don’t put it off. Mail the 
coupon below and they will he sent 
to you promptly. No obligation. 
U. S. School of Music. 3r»{)4 Bruns- 
wick Building, New York City. 




U. S. SCHOOL OF MUSIC 
3594 Branswiek Bldg., New York City 



Please send me your free book, “How 
You Pan ^^aster Music in Your Own 
Horne." with inspirinK message by Hr. 
Frank Crane, Free Demonstration Lesson 
and particulars of your easy payment plan. 
I am interested in the following course: 

HiiTe You 

Instrument? 

Name 



Address 

City state. 



PICK YOUR 
INSTRUMENT 


Piano 


Violin 


Organ 


Clarinet 


Ukulele 


Flute 


Cornet 


Saxophone 


Trombone 


Harp 


Piccolo 


Mandolin 


Guitar 


'Cello 


Hawaiian 


Steel Guitar 


Sight 


Singing 


Piano 


Accordion 


Italian 


and German 


Accordion 


Voice and 


Speech Culture 


Harmony and Composition 


Drums 


and Traps 


Automatic 


Finger Control 


Banjo (Plectrum. 5- 


String 

Juniors’ 


or Tenor) 
Piano Course 




THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 

. ‘=‘i John Russell Fearn 

[THE BLINDING SHADOWS 

' Donald Wandrei 

NotSchachnet QharlesWillard Didi. 











3|P9 












w^. 


"" !*■ ■ 1 








,/'" : . ' # 
,'t'“ J 





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Without cost or obligation, please send nje a copy of your booklet, “Who Win* 
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Name.. 






..Address 



City SlaSe Occupation. 

If vou reside in CanadOt send tMe eoupon to the InSernaSiondl Correipondenoe Bohoole Canadian. Limited. Montreal. Canada 



★ 

"MY OWN CODE GAVE ME 



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code covering my spare time. I decided 
to systematically devote a portion of it 
to improving my training, in the thought 
up-to-date knowledge is an ace 
hole. My hunch was right ! That 
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AST-1 



Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements 



On Sale Third Wednesday of Each Month 




! A STREET & SMITH PUBLICATION 



The ORtlre cwtents of this magazine are protected by copyright, and must not be reprinted without the pubiUberi' perrolsalon. 


Table of Contents 

Feature Novel: 

THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 


. 44 


Our Thought-variant for May 
by John Russell Fearn 

Novelette: 

THE LONG NIGHT 


. 128 


A Fascinating Conception of the Future 
by Charles Willard Di£Sn 

Short Stories: 

BLINDING SHADOWS 


. 10 


Another Thought-variant story 
by ' Donald Wandrei 

THE WALL 




by Howard W. Graham, Ph. D. 
SUCCUBUS 


. 33 


K. F. Ziska 

THE 100th GENERATION 


. 85 


by Nat Schachner 

Serial Novel: 

THE LEGION OF SPACE (Part Two) . 


. 99 


Three Musketeers of the Solar System! 
by Jack Williamson 

Fact Feature Serial: 





LO! (Part Two) 

The greatest collection of superscience data 
by Charles Fort 

Readers’ Department: 

BRASS TACKS 

The Open House of Controversy 

EDITOR’S PAGE 

Cover Painting by Howard V. Brown 



119 

155 

84 



Single Copy, 20 Cents Yearly Subscription, $2.00 

Monthly publication Issued by Street A Sooitb PobUcatlona, Inc., 79-89 Seventh Avenue. New York. N. T. 
Oeorse C. Smith. Jr., President; Ormond Y. Oould. Ylee President and Treasurer: Artemai Holmes. Yiee President 
and Secretary. Copyright. 1934. by Street A Smith PubUeatlons, Inc., New York. Copyright, 1934, by Street A 
Smith Pubilcatlona. Inc., Great Britain, entered as Second-class Matter, September IS. 193^ at the Poet Office at 
New York. N. Y., under Act ot Cobgresa of March 3, 1879. Subscriptions to Cuba. Dom. Bepublic, Haiti, Spain, 
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We do not aoeept reamnalbllity fir the return of unaelicited manuaerlpta. 

To fasilitata handling, the author abonid Inelaao a aetf-addreseed envelope with the requisite postage attached. 

STREET & SMITH PUBLICATIONS, INC., 79 7th AVE., NEW YORK, N. Y. 



ADVERTISING SBCTION 







SEND ONLY THE COUPON BELOW 

a »i (/ U' c '.v i I I : J I I y n H h n ;c V O I ’ t • n <i k a i i f y to — 



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H ERE'S m lot of cosh for somo oat- Would you like to 
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Jan You Find 5 Faces? 



It is fun to look for the hidden faces in the trees, 
clouds, etc., in the picture at the right. Are your eyes 
sharp cnou^ to find them? Some lo^ straight at you, 
some are upside down— others are sidewise. It is not 
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Huny — mark the 5 faces you find, send your answer 
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prize. 



Send No Money, Just Mall Coupon 



Re m ember, send not one penny with this 
coupon— ell you do now is to find 5 faces, if 
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see for yourself if you win first prize. 
DOfTT DELAYl • • • Mall your an* 
swer today. 



I Q. P. STAYTON. President Dept. 50 

I 1912 Grand Avenue, 

I Des Moines, Iowa. 

I I have found 5 faces in the enclosed picttire and 
g 1 want to win. Tell me how I stand. 



i My name. 

I 

J AHHr. 



■ City. 



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'ADVERTISING SECTION 





I WANT M EN 

ROUTES 

START IN<EARN I N6IUP TO f AQ— « 



NO EXPERIENCE OR 
TRAINING REQUIRED 

If 70 U are a good, honest 
person, willing to follow my 
simple plain instrnctlons you 
are eligible to handle one of these 
fine-paylng Koutes. Bamings begin 
at once. There Is no long wait or 
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are short, and the profit possibilities are 
exceptionally large. 



Have a PERMANENT ROUTE 
With a Big Weekly Cash Income 



Everybody usee Coifee. Tea. 
Spices. Extracts, Baking 
Powder and similar bouse" 
hold supplies. They need 
these things to live. Tou 
simply take care of a regu- 
lar route in your locality, 
making calls on your cus- 
tomers once a week and 
keeping them supplied with 
the things they need. Tou 
handle the money and keep 
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hundreds of fine premiums 
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offers Just to give your cus- 
tomers. Hundreds of people 
are waiting to be served In 
many localities. 

MONEY FOR YOU AT 
ONCE 

Ky amazing new Tea and 
Coffee Boute Plans provide 
for your having immediate 
cash earnings. If you are 
honest and reliable and will- 
ing to take good care of the 
customers on one of these 
Boutes, then you are Just 
the person I am looking for. 
Tou will start in your own 
locality, right near where 
you live. There Is nothing 



hard or diiOcuU about the 
worit. There will be no red 
tape eonneeted with get- 
ting started. Tou won't 
have to rent a store, buy 
fixtures, or other high priced 
e<iulpment to start with. 

I FURNISH EVERYTHINQ 
lust as soon as I hear from 
you I will send you com- 
plete details of the Inside 
working! of this nation-wide 
Tea and Coffee Boute Plan 
that Is taking the country 
by storm. 1 will explain 
Just how you go about han- 
dling the business. The 
plans I give you cost me 
thousands upon thousands of 
dollars and years of time to 
prepare. They are time- 
tried and proven. They have 
brought quick money relief 
to hundreds and thousands. 
Why not to you? 

LOOK AT,. THESE UN- 
USUAL EARNINGS 
My Tea and Coffee Plana 
are not an experiment. If 
you have been working part 
time or for low wages, xhif 
Is your opportunity to gel 
more caKi immediately— 
money to pay your bills and 
live well. Here’s what some 



have already done: Wm. B. 
Berkhimer, Pa., cleared 
$20.00 in one day and as 
high as $90.00 In one week. 
Stanford Berg. Ind.. $75.00 
in one week. Wra. H. New- 
comb. N. T., $24.00 in one 
day. $80.00 in one week. 
O. V. Budaus. Texas, Jumped 
his Income from $20.00 • 
week to $65.00 In a week. 
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^w the amazing posiiblll- 
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find out the great possibili- 
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SIND NO MONEY-JUST 
NAME 

Don't send me a cent. Just 
rurti me your name so I can 
lay all the facts before you 
and then you can decide for 
yourself. My plans are com- 
plete. I send you absolutely 
free the details of my 
fer. I even furnish brand- 
new Ford Tudor Sedans to 
producers as an extra bonus. 
Send name on coupon or 
penny ^tcard. Costs noth- 
ing. Do it today. 



SPECIAL OPENINGS FOR WOMEN 

I have wonderful reports of the success 
women are having handling Neighbor- 
hood Tea end Coffee BouUa. Even in 
tbelr spare time they make as high 
as $5.00 a day. The work Is light 
and pleasant. Mrs. Carrie McCal- 
mant. Nebr., had earnings of $50.00 
in a week, despite a sick husband and 
two ehildnn to take care of. Mrs. 
Jewel Hackett, here In Ohio, decided 
to try the business and she made 
$ 33.00 In seven hours. These are a 
few of the hundreds of exceptional 
earnings reported, showing what can 
be done with my plan. 

YOUR OWN FOOD PRODUCTS } 
AT WHOLESALE PRICES 

When I send you details of my new 
Neighborhood Tea Bird Coffee Boute 
Plan. I also give you rock-bottom 
wholesale prices on your own groceries 
and household necessities. This Is in 
addition to your regular daily earn- 
ings. So you- make big money in cash 
and save big money on the things you 
use in your own home. 



FORD SEDANS GIVEN 



FOOD ROUTE COUPON 




I furnish my producing Route 
Operators with brand-new Ford 
Tudor Sedans as an extra re- 
ward or bonus. This is not a 



or a raffie. Ton 
car in addition to 
big weekly oaab 



ALBERT MILLS* President S 

5042 Alonnsiitli Ave«* Cincinnati* IHilo g 

Here's my name. Bush me free particulars of your sensa- ji 
tlooal Tea and Coffee Boute Plan, showing Just how I can S 
get started on a basis of up to $60.00. I understand there 
Is DO obligation on my part. 




Please mention this magazine yibea answering advertisements 




ADVERTISING SECTION 






ed by Mr •WMrtot.BQdcni AlIB 9BICFS 
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•Atevd tociv* fall 12 Mrvle* mS» 

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JAPANESE ROSE BlSHES 






‘They, and the mirror, were absolutely 
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Illustrated by 
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Blinding Shadows 

An experiment destroys a fundamental 
law — and makes man*s mightiest city 
a place accursed, A Thought-variant 

by DONALD WANDREI 



ASSING NOW from the ten- 
year period of reconstruction 
that salvaged what was left of 
civilization after the second World 
War in 1955-58, we come to the year 
1970, and the phenomenon generally 
called “The Blinding Shadows.” It 
is not easy to approach this topic, 
deserving though it is of a volume 
in itself, for much that brought it 
on, and indeed its very nature, is 
still and likely always to remain 
a riddle. 

The area involved roughly com- 
prises what was formerly known as 
Greater New York, and includes a 
circle whose radius is some ten 
miles, even extending out into the 
harbor and the Atlantic, This area, 
now protect^ on land by great 
cement, steel, and barbed-wire forti- 
fications erected by the government, 
is dead ground, which tens of thou- 
sands of sight-seers visit weekly to 
view the “lost” city and its strange 
conquerors, the Blinding Shadows. 

One may stand upon the western 
wall, atop the Jersey Palisades, and 
look through barbed wire at a de- 
serted city, where a vast and im- 
measurable fortune in gold, jewels, 
merchandise of every description, 
real estate, art treasures, libraries, 
museums, and the very cream of 
man’s wealth, lies forever beyond 
human hands. No ship has sailed 
into New York harbor in ten years, 
nor has even dared try to break the 



pontoon barrier that curves beyond 
Staten and Ellis Islands, southwest 
to the Jersey coast, and northwest 
to Long Island. 

It is a matter of cosmic irony that 
New York, the dream city that with- 
stood war and all the natural forces 
of destruction, has fallen before a 
mysterious, extra-natural enemy 
who remains unidentified. It may 
be that the scientists who have 
labored for a decade will eventually 
solve the puzzle and liberate New 
York, but in this year of 1980, the 
solution seems as far off as ever. 

The Blinding Shadows first ap- 
peared on May 9, 1970. 

As nearly as has been ascertained, 
however, their origin dates back to 
May 27, 1969. Upon that afternoon. 
Professor G. M. Dowdson of the 
University of Minnegon delivered a 
paper which created a sensation 
among learned societies. Dowdson 
was professor of mathematics, and 
also held degrees qualifying him as 
a doctor of optics and of philosophy. 

Born in 1920, an infant prodigy, 
he received his B. A. at fifteen, his 
M. A. at sixteen, and his Ph. D. at 
eighteen. He achieved international 
fame for his researches into optical 
laws and the invention of lenses 
which made possible the great 
Mount Everest observatory, built in 
1950. He taught mathematics, evi- 
dently pursuing his researches in 




12 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



private, until he read his celebrated 
paper. 

The occasion was the meeting of 
the International Scientific Academy 
at the University of Minnegon. On 
the afternoon of the second day of 
the session his paper was presented. 
One may imagine the professor, a 
short, nervous, dyspeptic man of 
keen eyes and extraordinary energy, 
striding back and forth upon the 
rostrum while he electrified a 
gathering that in its small compass 
of three hundred delegates included 
the greatest investigators of the 
time, men who were outstanding in 
every field of science. Dowdson’s 
paper is too long to be quoted in 
full, but excerpts are interesting not 
only in themselves, but for the light 
they shed upon the Blinding 
Shadows. 

SHORTLY AFTER his opening 
remarks, Dowdson stated : “One by 
one, our fundamental laws have been 
challenged as the boundaries of our 
knowledge have expanded. Among 
the few remaining was the ancient 
axiom: Two solids cannot occupy 

the same space at the same time. 
Gentlemen, that axiom is a fallacy. 
Two bodies can occupy the same 
space at the same time. The experi- 
ments of Rutherford, Bohr, Elling- 
sen, and others, proved that so-called 
solids were actually composed of 
atoms with spaces between the con- 
stituent particles as great com- 
paratively as those between the stars 
of our galaxy. 

“What is to prevent another solid, 
but with its constituent particles in 
these gaps, from occupying the same 
space at the same time? What is to 
prevent many apparent solids from 
occupying the same space simultane- 
ously? 

“The skeptic will retort; if two or 
more bodies can occupy the same 



space at the same time, why do we 
not perceive them? My answer is, 
we cannot perceive them because we 
have insufficient senses, because they 
are beyond our range of perceptions, 
or because they lie in a separate 
world. 

“Gentlemen, there was a time long 
ago when objects were considered to 
have two dimensions, namely, length 
and breadth. After Euclid, it was 
discovered that length, breadth, and 
thickness comprised three dimen- 
sions. For thousands of years, man 
could visualize only two dimensions, 
at right angles to each other. He 
was wrong. Now, for more thou- 
sands of years, man has been able to 
visualize only three dimensions, at 
right angles to each other. May 
there not be a fourth dimension, per- 
haps at right angles to these, in some 
fashion that we cannot yet picture, 
or perhaps lying altogether beyond 
our range of vision? Objects 
emitting infra-red rays, and lying in 
such a four-dimensional world, 
might easily be past our ability to 
see and our capacity to understand, 
while existing beside us, nay, in this 
very hall.” 

Professor Bonnard was seen to 
turn red at this point, though he 
listened with polite deference. He 
had mathematically proved in the 
preceding session that no other than 
a three-dimensional universe was 
tenable. 

Dowdson reached the crux of his 
paper with deep, if skeptical atten- 
tion from his audience: “A three- 
dimensional object casts a two- 
dimensional shadow. If such a thing 
as a two-dimensional object existed, 
doubtless it would throw a one- 
dimensional shadow. And should a 
fqur-dimensional solid be extant, its 
shadow would be three-dimensional 
In other words, gentlemen, it is en- 
tirely conceivable that in our very 



BLINDING SHADOWS 



13 



midst lies a four-dimensional world 
whose shadow, of itself, or could we 
construct a mirror to reflect or 
materialize it, would be charac- 
terized by three dimensions, though 
we might never have eyes to see 
or minds to understand the nature 
of the four-dimensional origin of 
that shadow.” 

Later in his paper, Dowdson 
stated: “You may well ask why, if 
my theories are correct, no such 
shadow has ever been seen. The 
answer, I think, is fairly simple. 
Subject to laws alien to those we 
know, and imperceptible to our 
range of vision, it is quite probable 
that the object does cast such a 
shadow, but of such a color as to be 
also invisible. The alternative 
theory is that some intermediary, 
such as a mirror based upon radical 
principles, would reflect the shadow. 

“One of my* assistants is now 
working with infra-red photog- 
raphy. He may some day succeed 
in proving my theory with actual 
photographs. I, myself, am experi- 
menting with lenses and mirrors of 
hitherto unknown refractive and re- 
flective indices by which I will ulti- 
mately support or disprove my 
statements. Gentlemen, at next 
year’s meeting of the International 
Scientific Academy, I hope to have 
a complete report, not only upon the 
principles underlying my mirror and 
its construction, but also upon the 
results of my research.” 

IF THE FLOOD of bitter debate 
started by his paper, the opportunity 
it gave to satirists and cartoonists, 
and the wide publicity it received, 
influenced his actions, Dowdson did 
not show it. 

He made an extended tour that 
summer. Various records indicate 
that he circumnavigated the globe in 
a zigzag course covering both hem- 



ispheres from pole to pole. We may 
assume that he was selecting a site 
for the completion of his experi- 
ment. 

It is noteworthy that those who 
knew him during this period, and 
they were few, remarked on his in- 
creasing testiness and irritability. 
He became secretive. In July, from 
Omsk, Siberia, he tendered his resig- 
nation to the university authorities. 
In August, he turned up at the 
Mount Everest observatory and ob- 
tained a variety of astronomical 
data, including photographs, records 
of celestial phenomena, charts, and 
miscellaneous information on dis- 
placements and other peculiarities in 
the motions of stars. 

Later in the month, he took the 
Sub-Pacific Corporation’s regular 
descent by marine bell to the ruins 
of the lost continent Antiquus, lying 
in sunken valleys and mountain 
peaks around Easter Island. He 
copied the famous diagrams of Loa- 
Thoth, those strange and unde- 
ciphered formulae and inscriptions 
which still incise a vast block of 
basalt at the corporation’s Descent 
Route Three. 

August 30th found Dowdson com- 
puting magnetic fields and electrical 
phenomena at the south pole. Sep- 
tember 6th witnessed his arrival in 
the Northwest Territory where he 
studied the aurora borealis and made 
several observations on the higher 
wave-length radiations which are 
peculiarly active in that region as a 
result of its tremendous deposits of 
intruded magnetic ores. The middle 
of September saw Dowdson back in 
New York. On September 17th, 
18th, and 19th, he appeared at a 
number of firms and bought quan- 
tities of optical and electrical 
supplies. 

On October 3rd he was reported 
missing. An intensive search failed 



14 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



to disclose his whereabouts. De- 
spite the disruptions of the World 
War, communication remained in a 
highly fluid state, but all the re- 
sources of public agencies failed to 
find the missing man. So inter- 
national a hunt may seem unusual, 
but it must be remembered that 
Dowdson was a leading figure in 
science, and that the scientists were 
the world’s rulers after the peace 
treaty of 1958. 

It seems evident that his wander- 
ings and disappearances were 
directly connected with his theories. 
These theories, it should be recalled, 
were : that the universe is four- 

dimensional ; four-dimensional ob- 
jects coexist with our three-dimen- 
sional perceptions; a four-dimen- 
sional object may occupy at the 
same time the same space occupied 
by a three-dimensional object; such 
a four-dimensional object might be 
perceivable by human beings with 
their present sensory equipment, 
but only as a three-dimensional 
shadow; and since no such shadow 
had ever been recorded, some inter- 
mediary must be essential, such as a 
mirror of radical design. 

THESE THEORIES are repeated 
in order to clarify the following de- 
position. The statement was written 
and signed by Dowdson’s assistant, 
Lawrence A. Gilroy, on May 10, 
1970, but is inserted here because it 
is the only knowledge we possess of 
Dowdson’s activities up to the 
appearance of the Blinding Shadows. 
'The salient parts alone are quoted 
from his statement. The original 
lies alongside Dowdson’s famous 
paper in the Hall of Documents in 
the National Museum at Wash- 
ington. 

After a brief resume of identity 
and previous life, Mr. Gilroy con- 
tinues: “I served as Professor 



Dowdson’s assistant at the Uni- 
versity of Minnegon from 1967 to 
1969. In 1956, I had helped him de- 
velop the Earth-Eye which directly 
ended the Great War.” (The Earth- 
Eye was the electrical mirror that 
reproduced the scene on any part of 
the world’s surface. It viras operated 
by a complex series of keyboards 
that controlled each twenty square 
feet of earth. The Eye made it 
possible for the Anglo-American- 
Soviet Union to witness, forestall, 
and defeat all plans of the Asiatic- 
African League, resulting in their 
conquest and virtual annihilation.) 
“From 1968 to 1969, I made re- 
searches in infra-red photography 
and assisted in the construction of 
mirrors. I followed his computa- 
tions. He was trying to reflect a 
four-dimensional world. None of 
the mirrors was successful. Alto- 
gether, I built four. One was a com- 
plete failure, one melted when the 
current was turned on, two showed 
only an unidentifiable blur. 

“My contract with Minnegon ex- 
pired in 1969. The university, faced 
by serious financial troubles, could 
not renew it. I conferred with 
Dowdson. He asked me to keep in 
touch with him throughout the 
summer. In June, when he was 
about to begin a world trip, he asked 
me to dispose of my effects, close 
my affairs at Minnegon, and without 
saying a word to any one, meet him 
at the Hotel Montesport in New 
York on September 20th. I told him 
I would. Neither he nor I had im- 
mediate relatives or obligations. 
That was one reason why we had 
always made a good partnership. 

“When I called upon him, we had 
a lengthy conversation that resulted 
in my agreeing to disappear from 
sight and help him perfect his ex- 
periment. He was afraid of the 
experiment itself, or of its success. 



BLINDING SHADOWS 



iS 



though I do not know why. I think 
also, he was secretive lest other 
scientists try to obtain his data and 
get ahead of him. 

“Our laboratory lay in the safest 
of all hiding places, the heart of 
New York City. It occupied a ware- 
house on Wendel Street near the 
North River. That grimy district of 
warehouses, piers, produce markets, 
and coffeepots was ideal as a retreat. 
There we lived and worked. I do 
not know how Dowdson got the 
place, but we were seldom outside, 
were free from interruption, and 
never recognized during the seven 
or eight months we stayed. 

“From remarks he dropped occa- 
sionally, I learned that somewhere 
in the course of his travels he had 
obtained formulae vital to the test- 
ing of his theories. I believe that 
this essential data is contained in 
the diagrams of Loa-Thoth, but if 
he finally deciphered those remark- 
able tables, he kept the translation 
a closely guarded secret. 

“On the basis of the 3ata he had 
collected, we began a new series of 
experiments. First, we built a 
mirror of prisms instead of the usual 
flat surface. The prisms were 
arranged with infinite variability 
upon concave, convex, flat, and other 
modified backings. The results were 
always striking. Sometimes dis- 
torted reflections of recognizable 
objects would appear. Again, there 
would be only a confusion of light. 
Once we saw a mirage. We never 
found its source and never succeeded 
in recapturing it. Only for a second, 
the prisms, whirling through the 
complex variations made possible by 
a sequence of four hundred and 
ninety-six numbers, showed up the 
outline of some far-away and fan- 
tastic city, Cyclopean in size, of 
shining black architecture, ineffably 
strange, and apparently deserted. 



though I thought I saw a curious 
mechanical contrivance move and 
operate as if by unseen hands. 

“For all his knowledge, Dowdson 
found it a physical impossibility to 
arrange four right angles at right 
angles to each other. He experi- 
mented with cubes, pyramids, tetra- 
hedrons, parallelepipeds, cones, and 
other geometric solids, by them- 
selves, and in combination through 
endless patterns of crystal. 

“Then Dowdson hit on the idea of 
using prisms made out of other 
materials than glass and abandoned 
his previous work. He tried glyptol, 
which has the same refractive index, 
but with no better results. He also 
tried chromoberyllium and other 
metal alloys. At that time the 
newly created elements above 92 
were just becoming available. 

“No. 95, a peculiarly brilliant and 
transparent compound, of marked 
radioactivity, low ductility, high 
fracturability, and other unusual 
attributes, interested him. It was 
extremely heavy, fluorescent, and an 
exceptional conductor of electricity. 
In addition, its most noteworthy 
characteristic was its absorptive 
nature in that it apparently con- 
sumed about fifty per cent of the 
power fed into it. By that I mean 
that if we introduced a current of 
one thousand volts, for example, the 
resulting current was only five hun- 
dred volts. This energy was not 
grounded, was not transformed to 
heat, and did not pass off by ioniza- 
tion or other discharges. 

“We made exhaustive tests with- 
out discovering what happened. In 
other words, a fifty-per-cent loss of 
energy occurred that was not 
accounted for. The best guess was 
that rhillium. No. 95, transformed 
the energy into something inde- 
fectible, possibly an emitted ray or 
radiation of such a nature as to re- 



16 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



quire special equipment to identify 
it. Because of its ease of fracture 
and its conchoidal fracture edges, 
rhillium was difficult to work, but 
Dowdson persisted and finally 
succeeded in cutting several hun- 
dred perfect prisms. 

“I SHALL never forget the day 
when we completed the rhillium mir- 
ror. It was May 8, 1970. Against the 
south wall of Dowdson’s laboratory 
stood the mirror, a concave reflector 
five feet in diameter, and composed 
of six hundred and eighty-one 
prisms in absolute s}rmmetry. Each 
rhillium prism was separately wired, 
power being supplied by a motor 
that rotated an endless belt that 
charged the surface of a hollow 
aluminum globe with static elec- 
tricity. 

“The globe was less than a foot 
from the cathode that would receive 
the charge and relay it to the 
rhillium mirror. In this way, by 
speeding the motor, the current 
could be built up to half a million 
volts if necessary. At various points 
were ammeters, voltmeters, inter- 
ferometers, and so on, to record 
what happened at each key point. 
Past the mirror was a final series of 
measuring equipment before the cur- 
rent was grounded. Everywhere 
stood vacuum tubes, retorts, dis- 
carded mirrors, reflectors, refractors, 
mercury disks, grinding and polish- 
ing materials, and miscellaneous 
equipment that we had been using. 
The laboratory was a confusion of 
electrical, optical, and astronomical 
supplies. 

“When Dowdson started the 
motor, the globe began to shine. 
Little sparks danced upon its sur- 
face. A terrific flash blinded me. 
Intermittent at first, the man-made 
lightning roared. The air became 
pungent of ozone. The discharges 



grew more regular as the motor 
droned on, and the whirling belt be- 
gan to sing a high song of its own. 
At last the discharge steadied, and 
an unbroken arc ripped from globe 
to cathode, though the flame danced 
in an ever-changing zigzag in space. 

“The bluish flare of the current 
fascinated me no less than the 
crackling surface of the globe. 
Dowdson bent over to make sure 
that the instruments were register- 
ing properly. I heard the dynamo 
drone on monotonously. And now 
the many-faceted prisms of the 
mirror began to shine and glowed 
like diamonds reflecting all the 
brilliant colors of the spectrum, and 
by the expression on Dowdson’s face 
I knew that the old phenomenon was 
recurring. Somewhere in the rhil- 
lium mirror, a fifty-per-cent loss of 
power occurred and could not be 
explained. 

“But I was more interested in the 
mirror itself. The prisms shaded 
through blues and oranges and reds 
and violets, even whites and blacks 
and all the tones between, a corusca- 
tion of many-varied color that 
played and shifted through more 
subtle harmonies than ever the 
northern lights or the Clavilux 
showed, a phantom and dazzling 
parade of hues. Then they softened 
and flowed into each other, and the 
prism-mirror became pearly as 
though one witnessed a rainbow dis- 
appearing into fog. 

“Thdn the fog, too, cleared away, 
and a curious thing happened. The 
mirror became strangely trans- 
parent. It flickered like a draft of 
hot air, but otherwise it was barely 
visible. I strained my eyes until 
they ached, but all I could see was 
the elusive suggestion of heat waves 
where the mirror had been. Yet I 
could not see the wall behind it, 
hence this was a matter of more than 
AST-1 



BLINDING SHADOWS 



17 



mere transparency. I can explain 
it only by saying that I saw nothing 
— neither mirror, nor wall behind it, 
nor the outside world. I might 
have been looking at a blank spot in 
space. 

“A half hour passed, and nothing 
happened. I felt that we had an- 
other failure. There was a certain 
hypnotic effect in the sounds in the 
room and the invisible mirror. 

“I was recalled from my abstrac- 
tion by a cry from Dowdson : 
‘Larry! Behind you! What is it?’ 
I swung sharply around. 

“Directly back of me lay the first 
of the Blinding Shadows. 

“It was a three-dimensional 
shadow. 

“I SUPPOSE I should have 
leaped with glee as Dowdson did at 
this verification of his theories, but 
I didn’t. The shadow was of too 
sinister a nature. It was absolutely 
blinding, like an incandescent fire, 
and so intense that it could be 
watched only with smoked glasses, 
so that we were unable to determine 
its real color. Perhaps its blinding 
nature was only the effect of a new 
color which our optical nerves could 
not record. I sometimes think so. 

“At any rate, the shadow hung for 
all the world as if it were stayed in 
the act of leaping at us. It occupied 
a space opposite the mirror, about 
three feet from the ground, and 
eight feet from me. It made me 
acutely uncomfortable to realize that 
that shadow was cast in spite of the 
fact that I stood between it and the 
mirror. 

“It is impossible for me to express 
my immediate reaction. The queer 
shadow hanging in mid-air roughly 
resembled a parallelepiped, slightly 
tilted downward from the mirror, or 
upward toward me. I believe that 
the true shadow would be a rect- 
AST-2 



angular solid, but that there must 
have been present a distortion 
similar to the lengthening of a two- 
dimensional shadow when the light 
is shifted behind the object cast- 
ing it. 

“Dowdson and I walked to the 
shadow and passed our hands 
through it, not without qualms. 
Nothing happened. We judged it 
to be some five by two by two feet 
in size. We put screens between it 
and the mirror, turned all the lights 
off, turned even brighter lights on, 
tried to photograph it, subjected it 
to all sorts of tests, many sound, but 
a few doubtless absurd, in our at- 
tempt to analyze it. Any one who 
has ever seriously tried to test a 
two-dimensional shadow can imagine 
what we were up against. We found 
absolutely no clue to its nature or 
its origin. 

“Then my guess about the object 
casting the shadow had a sudden 
corroboration. Without warning, as 
we were staring at the baffiing 
shadow, a second blinding luminance 
leaped into being. It was a similar 
shadow and several feet away. It 
hung below the first shadow and 
seemed more fantastic still. There 
was a greater degree of distortion 
in its parallelepiped shape, and it 
curved through a thirty-degree arc. 
Now I knew that whatever objects 
cast these shadows were placed in 
different relationship to the un- 
known light, and consequently the 
shadows differed in appearance. 

“I need not go into detail about 
that afternoon. Shadow after 
shadow appeared. Sometimes only 
one would come in an hour. Then 
a succession would materialize 
rapidly. They all remained, once 
they came. They all differed. 
There were thick, squat shadows, 
and shadows like torsos, some that 
curved weirdly, and others assuming 



18 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



the form of asymmetrical cones, 
helical spirals, and shapes for which 
geometry has no classification. 

“Each shadow possessed the ex- 
traordinary brilliance. Most of 
them were poised in mid-air. As the 
long afternoon drew to a close, the 
laboratory blazed with the singular 
radiance of these shapes, the dynamo 
droned on, the lightning roared from 
globe to cathode, the air became dis- 
tressingly pungent of ozone, but we 
scarcely heeded, so fascinated were 
we by the rapid and sinister 
materialization of the Blinding 
Shadows. I think we both felt the 
invisible presence of whatever 
objects cast the shadows, but be- 
cause the shadows varied so, we had 
no conception of what their source 
might be. 

“There were seventeen shadows 
by nightfall. They radiated fanwise 
from the first shadow. Two or three 
overlapped. Some encompassed our 
laboratory apparatus. One shadow 
sprang into existence piercing 
Dowdson’s body and terminating at 
an electric furnace. 

“I remember Dowdson’s saying: 
‘Larry, we’ve opened the way to 
fields of investigation that may turn 
the whole course of civilization! 
Why, these are only shadows ! The 
next step will be to find out what 
casts the shadow, and then to bring 
the fourth dimension to ours, or ours 
up to theirs.’ 

“The shadows disturbed nie. I 
couldn’t share his enthusiasm. I 
said: ‘What if they are hostile? 

This is new ground to science. How 
do we know that we aren’t opening a 
Pandora’s box of trouble?’ 

“Dowdson pooh-poohed my sug- 
gestion. ‘Nonsense; we’ve only 
shadows to go on, and it may be 
months before we progress further. 
Besides, these beings are probably 
just as anxious to learn about us as 



we are about them, if the shadows 
are cast by living organisms as I 
think they are.’ 

“I had my doubts, but it was his 
experiment. The shadows bred in 
me a distaste akin to the unreason- 
ing fear that children have of dark 
woods at night. There was some- 
thing dreadful in the knowledge 
that something in this very room 
cast a three-dimensional shadow, 
and that we might study the shadows 
for all eternity without obtaining 
one clue to the real nature of the 
objects casting the reflection. 

“I WENT OUT for sandwiches 
and coffee at midnight. We lunched 
hastily. Neither of us slept. All 
night long, we studied the Blinding 
Shadows. The dynamo hummed in- 
cessantly; the lightning sizzled; and 
the rhillium mirror, all but invisible, 
reflected those enigmatic shapes. 
There were thirty-three of them at 
dawn. They filled the laboratory. 
Of every size, form, and kind, they 
completely baffled us. Each re- 
mained fixed, once it appeared, but 
none was the same. Despite my 
goggles, my eyes burned from the 
intolerable glare of the Blinding 
Shadows. 

“We were both pretty far gone 
when noon came. It was over thirty 
hours since we had slept, and the 
tension was unbelievable. What was 
the nature of the shadows? What 
beings cast them? How did the 
rhillium mirror function? Where 
did the loss of power occur and 
why? What accounted for the in- 
crease in the number of the 
shadows? Was their source ma- 
terial, or organic? Could those 
beings, if they were beings, see us, 
and if so, what was their purpose 
and attitude? 

“‘I’ve got a hunch!’ Dowdson 
suddenly exclaimed. ‘That unex- 



BLINDING SHADOWS 



19 



plained loss of power represents 
energy that is transformed and 
sifted into the world where those 
shadows originate. It must be 
visible to them, and they are gather- 
ing around the dispersal point to 
watch !’ 

“I objected. ‘Do you honestly 
think any one would stand still for 
twenty-four hours? Remember, the 
first shadow hasn’t moved one inch 
since we first saw it.’ 

“ ‘What of it? A day of our time 
may be only a second to them. You 
yourself have seen how the shadows 
literally leap out, as if something 
at a high speed from our standpoint 
shot in front of a beam of light and 
stopped, whereas, it might merely be 
a living entity strolling to watch 
some oddity of nature in its world, 
an entity that has summoned its 
companions to see also. Larry, 
that’s it! The beings are coming 
to watch a new energy in whatever 
fashion it registers in their world! 
And that imknown radiation at the 
same time reflects their shadow back 
to us through the rhillium mirror. 
Perhaps it is our shadow that they 
are watching. The rhillium mirror 
may work two ways. Perhaps 
they’ll be able to see us eventually 
and we them !’ 

“‘It sounds possible,’ I agreed, 
more from weariness than anything 
else. ‘I’d like some more coffee and 
sandwiches.’ 

“‘Good ideal’ he muttered. ‘Run 
out and bring me some.’ He 
hovered around the apparatus like 
a demon, his eyes beneath the 
goggles bloodshot from lack of 
sleep. He walked through a couple 
of shadows, and I thought it strange 
to see them intersecting his body. 
As I left, he was bending over the 
mirror. Ionization of the air, and 
the intermittent, innumerable sparks 



of electrical discharges gave the 
only clue to the mirror’s location. 

“I saw Professor Dowdson just 
once more. 

“I bought sandwiches and a con- 
tainer of coffee. Then I hurried 
back and climbed the single flight 
of stairs. 

“A shriek greeted me as I opened 
the door. 

“THE TERROR came with that 
wordless cry. I had no more than 
entered when one of the shadows 
moved. It leaped on Dowdson and 
infolded him. The dazzling shape 
vanished, and so did Dowdson. I 
think I dropped the sandwiches in 
my paralysis of fright. I don’t 
know. I was exhausted, and every- 
thing happened at once. 

“Dowdson’s cry still echoed when 
the strange shadow reappeared. 
But Dowdson did not come back. I 
sensed the shadow curving to spring 
at me. It was a dreadful feeling, 
what with the everlasting drone of 
the dynamo, the flaming shadows, 
the radiant, invisible mirror, the roar 
of electricity, the crackle of sparks 
and discharges, and the ever-chang- 
ing play of fire and color through 
all the intricate globes and prisms 
and parts of that damnable inven- 
tion. And the Blinding Shadows, 
no longer still, marched alive and 
purposive. The same shadow that 
got Dowdson raced after me. 

“I turned and took the whole 
flight of stairs in two bounds. I tore 
into the street. A couple of men 
were unloading a truck at the other 
end of the loft. I raced by them 
with a yell of warning, but they only 
looked at me stupidly. They saved 
my life unintentionally. I heard 
hoarse cries and looked around. The 
shadow, more dazzling than day- 
light, swerved and swallowed the 
men. In a flash it was gone, and not 



20 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



a trace of the men remained. There 
were other people on the street, 
tradesmen and teamsters. I gasped 
and begged them to flee, but they 
must have thought me a madman, 
and I don’t blame them. 

“I turned the corner. My last 
look backward impressed on me a 
scene I shall never forget. The 
Blinding Shadows were pouring out 
of the loft, from its doors and win- 
dows, from the solid walls them- 
selves. Every person on the street 
was being attacked, surrounded, and 
engulfed. The light of the sun was 
darkness compared to the blaze of 
the destroyers. The disappearance 
and rematerialization of those 
cryptical reflections came with a fit- 
ful rapidity, but the people who 
vanished with them never came back, 
and hardly a cry but was cut off 
abruptly as the victim was stolen 
from our world, to a fate unknown. 
There had been forty-nine shadows 
in the laboratory. There were hun- 
dreds now swarming out. 

“The next hours are a blank in my 
memory. For two days I had had 
no sleep. The shock of the tragedy 
upon my exhausted s)rstem evidently 
finished me. I came back to my 
senses late at night and in Jersey, 
speeding westward. My subcon- 
scious mind probably drove me from 
the scene and toward my birthplace. 
I got off at the next station and 
made my way back to New York. 

“The city was a shambles. I never 
saw such black, enormous mobs of 
people evacuating any site even in 
the worst slaughter of the Great 
War. By hundreds of thousands 
they stormed every exit. The 
policemen, guards, and troops were 
absolutely helpless in that tide of 
stampeding humanity. Panicky 
faces, the sputter of automoblie 
engines, the roar of airplanes, the 
play of floodlights, and the endless 



torrent of beings, the mutters and 
shouts, all blending in a vast and 
continuous babel of sound and 
frenzy were as terrifying to me as 
the shadows. 

“From the Jersey heights, I saw 
the lights of the city shining, but 
shining more brilliantly than all the 
lights together were those strange, 
blinding, voracious, three-dimen- 
sional shadows that charged through 
the streets, hounding every laggard 
and passing easily through stone, 
cement, steel, and all obstructions in 
their quest for prey. 

“I convinced a captain at the 
Holland Tunnel that I could help 
explain the menace. He took me 
straight to a conference of the 
mayor, the police commissioner, the 
secretary of national defense, and 
others. 

“In their presence, at two o’clock, 
on this morning of May 10, 1970, of 
my own free will, I make this state- 
ment, repeating what I have just told 
them, to which is affixed my sig- 
nature, with the signatures of the 
last three designated persons as 
witness. 

(Signed) 

LAWRENCE A. GILROY. 
(Witness) F. A. Waite, 

J. N. Norris, 

Arthur McCoy.” 

ON I,.:AY 9th, New York City was 
still the dream metropolis, raising 
its proud spires to the sky and seem- 
ing as eternal in stone and steel as 
Rome was in legend. On May 10th, 
by nightfall. New York was a 
wilderness where only the Blinding 
Shadows prowled, and no human 
being lived. Those who had not fled 
were swallowed. In one day, a great 
city became a tomb. For the first 
time, it was wholly silent, all its 
noise and sound and smoke, all its 
trafiflc and life, stilled. All that 



BUNDING SHADOWS 



21 



enormous and infinitely varied 
wealth mentioned before, and con- 
centrated within its limits, a wealth 
beyond estimate, though guesses 
have ranged all the way from twenty 
billions to one hundred billions of 
dollars, has tempted many but re- 
mains unreclaimed. 

Gilroy’s statement explained with- 
out solving. The Blinding Shadows 
ruled the city. That they did not 
overrun the State or the country, or 
indeed the world, can only be under- 
stood by a paragraph from Dowd- 
son’s famous lecture: 

“I have stated that two bodies can 
occupy the same space at the same 
time. This, of course, does not mean 
that they need necessarily do so. It 
is entirely conceivable that a four- 
dimensional world might overlap 
only some portion of our world, such 
as a continent, a country, or even a 
municipality, and that neither that 
world nor our world would have any 
points whatsoever of contact, 
identities, or communication, out- 
side that overlapping area.” 

As this history is being written, 
ten years later, the catastrophe is 
sufiBciently vivid in the mind of the 
nation to require no further details. 

No one, so far as known, has ever 
seen the source of the Blinding 
Shadows, or, in other words, a four- 
dimensional being. None of the 
missing persons, whose total num- 
ber runs into tens of thousands, has 
ever returned. Their fate is merely 
conjectural. The Shadows halted 
within the limits of the area de- 



scribed, thus lending support to the* 
theory that the world of their origin 
overlaps Earth only in a small sec- 
tion centering around New York. 

Gilroy died in 1970 at the hands 
of an infuriated mob, two days 
after his confession. No successor 
to Dowdson has yet been found, 
though one million dollars in cash 
and the same sum annually through- 
out his life await the person who 
releases New York. Meanwhile, the 
Blinding Shadows roam restlessly 
about the streets, prowl through de- 
serted buildings, and hover in mid- 
air, waiting, endlessly waiting. 
They pass through solids and lie 
upon the ground with equal ease. 
Their proportions change when 
they move. Their eternal silence is 
rivaled only by the eternal silence 
of the city that they have conquered. 

Why they remain and what they 
seek are unsolved riddles, nor in- 
deed is there surety that somewhere, 
sometime, they may not flame out- 
side the barriers and sweep onward, 
or that some other scientist may not 
unwittingly loose upon the rest of 
the world a horde of mysterious, 
ravenous, and Blinding Shadows, 
against which mankind is powerless 
and about whose source nothing is 
known. 

For ten years, the Blinding 
Shadows have possessed the dream 
city; and ten thousand times that 
many years are likely to slip into 
oblivion without one human tread in 
streets where not even the ravens 
hover and where the hellish Shadows 
endlessly rove. 



Next Month: 

A “different” Interplanetary novelette 

CRATER 17, NEAR TYCHO 

by FRANK K. KELLY 

la the June Astounding Stories 




Illustrated by 
Paul Orban 



Invisible, but unbreakable, 
it stood far up in the air, 
with men helpless! 



O NE EYE blackening, his 
clothing disheveled, and his 
necktie jerked into a perma- 
nent knot, Jasper watched the scene 
with amazement and incredulity. 
He had fought his way out of that 
incredible chaos inch by inch, and 
at last gained a point of vantage on 
the top steps of the public library. 

This was no mere traffic stop- 
page. There was something else, an 
element of terrible surprise and the 
suggestion that something more was 



involved than the wreckage of a few 
fine cars. But 42nd Street was a 
chaos past belief, wherein men and 
women fought like animals in a kind 
of nightmare in broad daylight. 

A short, doglike man came run- 
ning around the corner of the li- 
brary and accosted Jasper as though 
he had found the man responsible 
for the whole business. He was 
breathless, and soggy with perspira- 
tion. 

“Well!” he ejaculated. 




THE WALL 



23 



“What?” said Jasper. 

“They got a jam like this on Sixth, 
and another one, only a damn sight 
worse, on Broadway!” 

“What are you talking about?” 
Jasper shrank away from the fel- 
low, appalled and a little angry. 

“You don’t haff to believe me,” 
said the stranger, “only the subways 
is all smashed up all across town, 
and all the L’s is spilling off the 
tracks. What I seen, you wouldn’t 
believe it. Listen! I been tryin’ 
for more than an hour to get up- 
town, and there’s no place you can 
get past 42nd Street, not even 
through the buildings. I simply got 
to see a man ! What is this all about, 
hah?” He seized Jasper’s coat and 
began weeping. 

Jasper looked down at the man as 
though he had not heard a word he 
said. A truck down there had over- 
turned, and something in it was 
screaming above the whole uproar. 
The pedestrian crowd, entering the 
spirit of the occasion, swarmed over 
the jam of cars and fought with each 
other whole-heartedly. It was not 
the accident itself, but this ugly af- 
termath of mob violence that caused 
so many injuries and deaths. 

It was then that Jasper saw the 
pigeons. There was a heavy beat of 
wings that came from an uncom- 
monly large flight of these birds that 
frequented the library courts. They 
wheeled in a wide, frightened arc 
over the street, high over the scene 
of the accident, where they piled up 
in the air in a flurried mass. They 
seemed to have struck an invisible 
wall in mid-air ; their fuddled wings 
thrashed, and niunbers of them 
showered down on the wreckage be- 
low with broken wings and necks. 

At this same time there was an- 
other aerial disaster far worse. A 
scout plane cruising over the metro- 
politan area had taken interest in 



the unaccountable state of affairs 
below. It dropped as low as it 
dared, hurtling down in a fatal 
power dive, and met that invisible 
dividing line, thenceforth to be 
known as the “42nd Street Wall.” It 
was actually about thirty feet from 
the building line toward 43rd 
Street. The plane exploded with 
the impact, and before that unlucky 
land crew of motorists and pedestri- 
ans knew what had occurred, the 
flaming ship was down on them. 

Where the 42nd Street Wall 
crossed the North River, the liner 
Bergen was to account for a badly 
damaged hull by having struck the 
wall obliquely. A number of small 
boats were totally wrecked, but no 
lives were lost on the water. Ashore 
and inland the damage was more se- 
rious. Commerce north and south 
ceased completely, and minor acci- 
dents of the most bewildering nature 
had an appalling frequency. 

As one might expect of them, the 
columnists took it up as a kind of 
grim jest. If you read such columns 
you saw: “Now that the most salient 
feature of the New Yorker is his 

broken nose ” This because of 

those scores of persons who charged 
unwittingly into the Gotham Wall. 

Worse, the Hudson River quickly 
inundated the land once it was 
dammed by this obstacle. Aside 
from incalculable property damage, 
numbers were marooned in the taller 
buildings as the waters of Flush- 
ing Bay were enormously aug- 
mented and the Hudson found a new 
course to the sea. 

HOWEVER confounding this 
state of affairs was, two persons 
knew where the trouble lay and were 
the entirely innocent cause of it. 
While picked corps of engineers 
were attacking thin air — ^the wall 
had no measurable thickness — ^with 



24 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



every tool at the command of sci- 
ence, Harold Jasper and Professor 
Maxim Gorsch stared at each other 
in an experimental laboratory on 
Lexington Avenue in a cold sweat 
of fear. 

Jasper arrived at the ofBce in mid- 
afternoon on the 17th, looking as 
though he had spent the day at 
rough and tumble sports. He made 
no apology for his absence, but for 
that matter Professor Gorsch did 
not turn around when he entered 
the room. Gorsch kept his position 
in the arena of experimental cruci- 
bles, retorts, and what-not, and 
rocked complacently on his heels. 
A swiveled power drill, of the sort 
using tanganim^etal bits, was 
mounted on the floor. It was turned 
on a one-sixteenth-inch sheet of 
steel that had just received a coat 
of an iridescent green lacquer. This 
plate was securely mounted between 
concrete pillars. The professor was 
pleased because sixty tons and a nee- 
dle drill were making no headway 
whatever on what was little more 
than a tin can rolled flat. 

At last he did turn around. He 
did not notice Jasper’s battered face 
nor his dishevelment. 

“It works. You see? It works,” 
he said, rather smugly. 

Jasper glared at him, speechless. 
All he could think of was the up- 
roar in the streets. Along that wall 
New York was a madhouse. Upper 
Manhattan was like some idiotic 
aquarium, with men and women 
thrashing about in the muddy waters 
of the Hudson and random fish leap- 
ing between their legs. Mud and 
muck were suspended in sheets 
against the transparent wall, like 
some juggler’s hideous trick. And 
simple Gorsch was engrossed in his 
labors all this while, with no 
thought or knowledge of anything 



that might occur outside this labora- 
tory. 

“The armor plate there,” the pro- 
fessor explained, frowning. “I haff 
broken three of the smaller drills 
on it, and still it is only one-six- 
teenth of an inch in thiclmess. My 
boy, no projectile in the world will 
pierce it. That drill hass been go- 
ing since ten thirty, and yet not a 
mark. My boy, we are both of us 
millionaires, easily. I will give you 
half.” 

He rubbed his hands with satis- 
faction. 

JASPER thought of a number of 
things, both his job and the chaos 
in the streets calling his attention 
at once. The plate was about thirty 
feet north of the building line. 
That was coincidence. It was true 
they had expected marvelous things 
of the new paint. The plate was 
mounted perpendicularly, parallel 
with 42nd Street. And Gorsch had 
turned his trick at about the time 
Jasper had had his eye blackened. 
More coincidence! 

“What have you put on that 
plate?” he asked suspiciously. 

“Why, the lacquer,” said Gorsch. 

He pointed to a jar full of green 
stuff on the desk. It was so, then; 
he had already used the paint. This 
material was Gorsch’s new develop- 
ment, prepared, of course, with a 
few of Jasper’s own ideas. This 
particular paint was the by-product 
of high-power discharges which 
they had filtered through a “perfect 
occurrence” mixture of the inert 
gases — these gases proportioned as 
they occur in the atmosphere. 

Both men were retained by the 
Greater American Products Cor- 
poration as “engineering counsel in 
new construction methods.” They 
had perfected the company’s syn- 
thetic wood and stone and various 



THE WALL 



25 



paints of remarkable permanence, 
not to speak of a superior brand of 
flexible glass. The power discharge 
through the inert gases, under a 
pressure of from thirteen to fifteen 
atmospheres, produced a brilliant 
green powder, for which Jasper had 
found a solvent. In solution the 
stuff made magnificent paint. In 
Jasper’s absence the professor took 
unto himself, as usual, the preroga- 
tive of doing a little fiddling on his 
own. He had already named the 
product “Beetle Lacquer” and was 
thinking about retirement. 

“When did you put it on?” barked 
Jasper. 

The professor was startled. He 
looked at Jasper with considerable 
resentment. “Ten o’clock sharp,” 
he said. “I painted the plate at ten 
this morning. What is the matter 
with you? Did you have an acci- 
dent?” 

“An accident!” Jasper ejaculated. 
“Have you been outside at all to- 
day, you old fool?” 

“When I begin a test,” said 
Gorsch, bristling, “I bring my lunch, 
I do not leave anything half done.” 

Jasper strode past him, ignoring 
the insinuation, and hastily went 
over Gorsch’s apparatus. The drill 
was turning at high speed, but mak- 
ing no impression whatever on the 
steel plate. Jasper started around 
it and ran into the invisible wall. 
He swore. There it was, coinciding 
exactly with the plane of green 
lacquer on the plate. He flattened 
his hands against it and followed it 
to the lacquer itself; he was ready 
to assume then that the great 
Gotham Wall was of the identical 
thickness of the coat of paint, and 
no more. 

Gorsch watched him, dumfounded, 
as he cranked the drill off to one 
side and turned the point into this 
impassable barrier. The motor 



snarled, and the oily tanganim point 
began to smoke with heat. 'There 
was no drilling through that sub- 
stanceless plane. 

He rightly suspected that some 
similar phenomenon must be con- 
nected with the original jar of 
lacquer itself. Turning to the desk, 
he tried to pass his hand over this 
jar and met solid resistance. He 
was totally flabbergasted. Once be- 
fore this they had concocted a paint 
that would turn a drill, but this was 
something quite else. This paint, 
some disastrous allotropic form of 
the inert gases, so changed in hard- 
ening, a freak accountable to the 
vast, uhlucky store of power in the 
laboratory, that the air around it 
was rendered solid and immovable. 

Gorsch, of course, had smeared 
the edge of the jar somewhat when 
he painted the plate. Wet, the 
enamel was unremarkable save for 
its intense color, for Jasper had 
handled it carelessly enough the 
night before. But as a dry coat it 
became a singularly impenetrable 
substance which exhibited the 
further property of extending a 
plane of resistance outside itself, in 
a ratio yet to be discovered. Thus, 
by encircling the invisible column 
above the jar with his hands, Jasper 
found that its diameter was that of 
the jar, measuring from the rim of 
dried lacquer around the cover. 
How high this column extended he 
could only guess. 

Jasper rapped the air above the 
jar smartly with his knuckles and 
caused a clear, faint, bell-like ring- 
ing. This column of air, subtly 
changed by the influence of the 
lacquer, had the rigidity of metal. 
Outside, there were so many crashes 
of all kinds with the wall itself, that 
it sounded over Manhattan and over 
the sea like an everlasting gong. 

Jasper turned on Gorsch and said: 



2S 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



*r 

“Beautiful! Millionaires, eh? 
Gorsch, though it’s no fault qf yours, 
you’ll have us on the penal island 
as public menaces for this. Do you 
know what you’ve done?” 

Gorsch listened to Jasper’s ac- 
count with glassy eyes. The wall, 
Jasper figured, was only of the 
thickness of the coat of lacquer. It 
ran across town, through all struc- 
tures crossing a point about thirty 
feet north of the building line on 
42nd Street. What its length was he 
did not yet know. 

THERE was something that must 
be found out, and that quickly. The 
plane, the Gotham Wall itself, could 
not be moved in the slightest. 
Though it had the transparency of 
the air itself, it had a greater in- 
ertia than any mass of stone or 
metal. It had stopped a plane and 
motor trucks driven into it at high 
speed. But, possibly, the plate 
could be taken off its supports and 
destroyed. 

Gorsch watched Jasper free the 
armor plate from the binding posts. 
He took a deep breath, then, with a 
common suction cup from the toilet, 
he pulled the plate outward, the 
faintest shadow of a degree off the 
perpendicular. The concrete floor 
cracked briskly across the room. A 
bit of plaster fell. Jasper shuddered 
and screwed the plate back into po- 
sition. 

“Professor Gorsch,” said he, his 
voice quavering, “you put that thing 
up — now you can take it down 
again !” 

Gorsch was alarmed. He chewed 
at his white mustache in perplexity. 

“We could bring the plate to the 
horizontal,” he suggested timidly. 

“I just tried that,” said Jasper. 
“If you move that plate you’ll shovel 
up half the buildings in New York 
and throw them into the Atlantic 



Ocean. For all I know,” he shud- 
dered again as he thought of this, 
“you’ll scoop a hole in the bottom 
of the ocean itself. And then where 
will Manhattan be?” 

It was the absolute inertia of the 
lacquer which they could not cope 
with. The invisible wall which ex- 
tended outside the film of paint was 
impassable, an immovable object. 
But the fact of such a wall’s ex- 
istence was not so disastrous, after 
all, as the fact that the object which 
had been painted could be moved, 
and moved easily. For, in motion, 
its extended and transparent plane 
moved with it; and in moving was 
irresistible. 

On the third day of the tie-up 
New York was declared under mar- 
tial law. These extreme measures 
were found necessary when the mob 
of rioting, bewildered citizens had 
caused immeasurable property dam- 
age and when organized crime began 
to avail itself of the opportunities 
offered by this unprecedented con- 
fusion. 

All cross streets were re-routed for 
policing; Governor Harris stationed 
a sixty-mile double cordon of mili- 
tia to the limits of the wall on the 
mainland. North of the wall there 
was a brisk trade in small boats. 
These carried the police and the 
overflow of citizens from the ele- 
vateds. The subways, of course, 
were flooded, with Manhattan some- 
what more than a fathom under 
muck and water. 

At the end of the second week, 
on the thirtieth, the city itself had 
split in two main governments. The 
old political machine enjoyed a brief 
renaissance under an emergency 
board on its own side of the wall, 
with its own mayor, and having its 
own special officials by appointment. 
Mayor Russel, casting aside the 
minor financial troubles of the mo- 



THE WALL 



27 



ment, set up a “Commission for In- 
quiring into the Nature of the 42nd 
Street Wall.” Mayor Byam fol- 
lowed suit, creating a great deal of 
unnecessary confusion. There 
seemed to be small logic in any ex- 
tensive underwater inquiries when 
the south of the wall was not so ob- 
structed, but a step of some kind 
had to be taken since the fire depart- 
ments and Red Cross had already 
relieved most of the victims from 
their distress with scaling ladders. 

The Russel Commission gave Jas- 
per and Gorsch one sleepless night 
after another. While Gorsch stood 
guard, Jasper bathed the plate with 
every acid in the laboratory and 
treated the lacquer with every chem- 
ical that might have an effect on 
it. The solvent he had discovered 
for the powder would not dissolve 
the lacquer once it had dried. Heat 
affected it not at all, and it was un- 
safe to apply more pressure than 
had been used in the drill. Jasper 
could have knocked down the two 
supporting concrete pillars with 
comparative ease, but that was just 
what he was afraid of doing. If 
the plate moved at all, the building 
would have been split from top to 
bottom. 

LIKE a leash of ferrets, the Rus- 
sel Commission’s engineers went 
over the wall from beginning to end. 
When any one came in sight in the 
halls, Gorsch would make a sign to 
Jasper, who would slide a bureau 
that was innocent enough against 
the plate. This bureau, with two 
cots, made the laboratory into very 
satisfactory living quarters. Many 
had done the same, making their 
offices their homes when they could 
not conveniently get back uptown. 

There was nothing extraordinary 
about the room, but Russel’s men 
were a suspicious lot and looked 



upon every man along the wall as a 
potential criminal. They held 
powers of arrest and would brook 
no interference even of the most 
casual nature. They were uncom- 
fortably inquisitive. 

“Where did that come from?” 
asked one of them narrowly, point- 
ing at the drill. 

“Why, it belongs here,” said 
Jasper. “We’re engineering coun- 
sels for the American Products Cor- 
poration.” 

“Counsels hell!” snapped the in- 
quisitor. “What’s it for?” 

“We’re trying to get through the 
wall ourselves,” said Gorsch meekly. 
“I haven’t seen my wife for three 
weeks.” 

“You leave that to us,” said the 
engineer menacingly. “If there’s a 
way of getting through, we’// do it !” 

He passed on an order or two, and 
that morning the power drill was 
dismantled and confiscated by au- 
thority of Mayor Russel. The en- 
gineer in charge of the work — he 
was Francis Herder, soon to become 
a great name in engineering — came 
dangerously near the jar of lacquer. 
Jasper’s heart was in his throat. If 
that jar had been moved, the build- 
ing would have been down about 
their ears, knocked to pieces by the 
pillar of rigid air that extended 
above and below it. The plate would 
have gone down with the building, 
and the city of New York down with 
the plate, into the sea. 

Both sat down weakly on the cots 
when the commission had gone. 

“Did you hear what they said?” 
asked Jasper. 

“About Lexington Avenue?” 

“Yes. They’ve measured the wall 
from end to end. Even the meteor- 
ologists are in on it. They’ve meas- 
ured rainfall and say that the wall is 
a hundred and twenty miles long 
and approximately sixty miles high. 



28 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



Lexington runs through the middle 
of it. If they’re right about its go- 
ing sixty miles deep into the earth, 
that damned plate has made a wall 
that’s a perfect square. Gorsch, 
this is the end of everything. They 
say they’ll find the reason for all 
this somewhere near Lexington 
Avenue.” 

“We have got to run away,” said 
the professor. 

“We have got to do nothing of 
the sort,” Jasper retorted. “Don’t 
you feel any responsibility for all 
this? If that bungling commission 
starts poking around in this room, 
all they’ll have to do is upset that 
blasted jar of lacquer. It would be 
wholesale murder. Tell me how 
you’d feel, Maxim Gorsch, with 
thousands of deaths on your soul! 
If you’ve got one,” he added bit- 
terly. 

“But you are unjust — I can do 
nothing!” the professor wailed. “I 
am going to the commission and tell 
them what I have done. I am sorry 
for it!” 

“You’re not going to tell any 
one anything!” shouted Jasper. 
“There’d be an investigation that 
would smell to high heaven. And 
how about the formula of that 
lacquer? Would you keep your 
mouth closed, eh? Let any unscru- 
pulous agent get hold of it, and 
you know what would happen as 
well as I do. Absolute inertia. It’s 
a perfect weapon for offensive or 
defensive war. Think, Gorsch! 
Think of what a long-range club you 
could make out of — out of a pencil ! 
Why, with one of these plates at 
your back the size of a penny you 
could plow up a navy ! With a pen- 
cil ! I don’t suppose you’d care 
about that, though, would you? Oh, 
no, Maxim Gorsch, you won’t tell. 
We have got to destroy that stuff 
somehow, and no one but ourselves 



is ever going to know what hap- 
pened.” 

IT WAS easily said, but time was 
getting terribly short. Something 
had to be done in a hurry, because 
the Russel Commission was defi- 
nitely concentrating at Lexington 
Avenue. Buildings there were in- 
fested with them. The Lexington 
area became their headquarters, and 
you could not come or go without 
running into some one who was an 
engineer and a secret agent in one. 
There was a war scare that year, and 
there was reason enough in eying 
even the most innocent citizen twice 
when this thing might easily be an 
alien government’s first surprise 
move. 

The commission evacuated sub- 
ways and made tests below ground. 
They agreed that the wall extended 
deep into the earth and were satis- 
fied that the distance was roughly 
sixty miles. 

The wall would not pass anything 
solid. It would filter water very 
slowly, however, and air circulated 
through it to some slight extent. 
Electric cables that were laid north 
and south functioned as well as ever, 
but all radio broadcasting was cut 
with a terrific field of static. It was 
only the fact that all parts of the 
wall caused equeil disturbances that 
had prevented the radio finders from 
locating the dead center of the wall. 

One engineer wanted to run di- 
agonals from comer to corner and 
thus find that dead center. Other 
engineers wanted to know what di- 
agonals running from what corners 
to what comers. Jasper told Pro- 
fessor Gorsch it was a damned lucky 
thing he hadn’t used a two-yard 
plate instead of a two-foot one, or 
he might, if the area of the wall did 
answer to the area of the plate, have 
cut the whole cotmtry in two and 



THE WALL 



20 



very likely sunk the continent be- 
fore he enjoyed the honors of dis- 
covery. 

THE JAR of lacquer was rapidly 
assuming importance of the grand- 
est kind. There was dust on the 
desk that neither counsel — Gorsch 
and Jasper were bitterly sorry they 
had ever heard that title — dared to 
disturb. The slightest tremors of 
the building, the merest vibration at 
all, filled them with anguish. 

At last Gorsch opened a container 
of one of their own incomparable 
glass binders and tenderly applied 
it to the base of the jar. Sweat 
pumped out of his old frame in a 
steady flow. He catfooted nerv- 
ously back and forth, perfectly well 
aware of the possibility of unequal 
hardening, until the binder was 
thoroughly set. Then, and not until 
he tried a needle on it, he breathed a 
gasp of relief, and Jasper and he set 
about fixing the legs of the desk to 
the floor. 

As they were so occupied, the 
building superintendent, a fat, 
harassed, but soft-footed individual 
of fifty-five, puffed into the room. 
The two counsels were completely 
surprised and rose shakily to their 
feet. The superintendent announced 
pathetically that the commission 
was evacuating, one by one, all oc- 
cupied offices on the line. No no- 
tice was to be served other than ver- 
bal. When the commission arrived, 
an office was expected to be unoc- 
cupied. Apologizing, the superin- 
tendent puffed out again. 

“Well,” said Jasper, somewhat re- 
lieved, “at least they can’t get this 
outfit loose without using an ax.” 
He meant the desk and jar. Once 
set, the glass binder made them an 
integral part of the floor. 

But Professor Gorsch sank back 
to his cot and groaned. He was a 



proud man, and could see nothing ' 
for himself any longer in this affair 
but ruin. Jasper stamped back and 
forth, his brow wrinkled, and 
abruptly vanished through the door. 
He was going down himself to see 
the commission. 

Herder was in charge. 

Jasper walked up to him and said: 
“I understand you’re cleaning us 
out,” 

Herder didn’t answer. He simply 
nodded his head at Jasper and kept 
on nodding, as though he never tired 
of agreeing with some one. Under- 
neath he was still a politician, the 
one-time proprietor of a cigar store 
in Brooklyn. 

Jasper said: “We can’t move. All 
our crucibles came through the ele- 
vator window in the north end.” 

“Leave them behind,” said Herder 
softly. There was something essen- 
tially vicious in his manner. 

“We’re in the G suite on 14,” said 
Jasper, “What’s the dead line?” 

“We may be up there to-morrow,” 
said Herder, “and maybe not for six 
weeks. Take your pick. But don’t 
let us find you there when we call.” 

Jasper hurried out, feeling out- 
raged, as though he had been caught 
in some act of counterfeiting. When 
he arrived at the laboratory he was 
panting like a dog. 

“The game’s up,” he said. “If you 
can think of something, let’s have 
it. Gorsch, I never had to come into 
this thing with you, and now we’re 
both in to the neck. I’m not sorry. 
I’ve seen that louse Herder, and he’s 
got a bad eye. Think of something, 
Gorsch.” 

“I was thinking,” said Gorsch, 
“that maybe lacquer would dissolve 
lacquer.” 

Jasper swiveled around in his 
chair and stared at the jar of green 
paint anchored to the desk. 

“Ma 5 rbe it would,” he said, “but 



30 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



how are you going to get at it? You 
can’t get to the cover any more, be- 
cause the column starts with the 
dried lacquer on the rim and the 
cover is inside it. There’s no time 
to make any more of the stuff, 
either, because our apparatus is on 
the other side of the wall.” 

“There is acid,” suggested Gorscb, 
“to eat the glass away.” 

Jasper shook his head. It was too 
dangerous. Paint would spill out 
of the jar, some of it was bound to, 
and they would be in a worse pre- 
dicament than before. It would 
mean immediate discovery; at this 
moment some one might have run 
into that fourth-dimensional column 
that extended upward from the jar 
of lacquer, and downward from it 
also, through the floors below, 
through the very headquarters of 
the Russel Commission. 

Jasper rose and examined the jar 
again, effectually sealed against the 
most determined safe-cracking by 
an invisible barrier. His knife 
slipped off this column like a pencil 
on glass. If only he had the time to 
inquire into the nature of the phe- 
nomenon, and how the paint in dry- 
ing effected this absolute inertia in 
the air extended from it! It would 
have been valuable to know whether 
the same freak took place in a 
vacuum; whether this column in 
particular stood only as high as the 
Gotham Wall, or, indeed, mounted 
above the earth’s atmosphere into 
open space. 

The column was not a perfect cyl- 
inder, its contours following the 
conformation of the dried lacquer 
on the rim of the jar. At one point, 
where areas of paint touched but did 
not overlap, the knife blade caught 
in, but did not enter, a crack. 

With a glass trained on that crack, 
Jasper called the professor and told 
him he thought they could get in, 



or at least find out wliether it would 
do them any good to get in. Gorsch 
hunted up a tray of platinum fila- 
ments in graduated sizes and ten- 
dered them to Jasper as though he 
were handing over his soul. Jasper 
took them and fished with one wire 
after another. 

Gorsch hung on his shoulder and 
said: “Does it go? Does it go?” 

“Get away, I can’t see !” exclaimed 
Jasper irritably. 

He set himself to the brain-rack- 
ing task of twisting an almost-in- 
visible corkscrew of platinum 
through a quite invisible crack in 
the air, down through the brush hole 
in the lid of the jar, and into the 
lacquer. He managed it. A few 
glistening green beads of paint came 
up on the wire and scraped off in the 
crack. Jasper fished again, and once 
more the beads scraped off. One 
small drop collected. The two men 
stood there, fidgeting and waiting. 

Jasper tried his knife in the crack. 
It had widened; the new paint had 
softened the dried film on the jar. 

“It works, Gorsch!” said Jasper 
in a hoarse whisper. 

He tried a pencil. The pencil 
passed through the crack, and 
shortly he was able to reach the 
brush Gorsch had left in the jar. In 
a few minutes he had applied 
lacquer to the circumference of the 
rim. 

MEANWHILE Gorsch had 
started a crucible, and by the time 
it had reached white heat Jasper 
had penetrated the whole column 
above the jar and wiped off the ex- 
cess lacquer with waste. He threw 
waste, pencil, wire, and cover into 
the crucible, instantly. All were 
consumed, with a sharp, clear re- 
port like the explosion of a shell. 
The glass cover melted at once and 



THE WALL 



31 



danced and blistered in the trough 
of the open furnace. 

Jasper worked desperately, pol- 
ishing the jar with waste soaked in 
the chemical solvent of the lacquer 
powder. He kept throwing these 
pieces of waste into the crucible 
while the reports diminished and 
finally ceased. Then he poured a 
quantity of the solvent into the jar 
to insure Gorsch’s “Beetle Lacquer” 
against any quick drying, slid a 
glass panel over it, and rested, mop- 
ping his brow. 

A trio from the Russel gang down- 
stairs burst through the doorway 
and shouted as one man : “What was 
that?” 

“What was what?” 

The whole thing seemed very 
silly, now that success seemed to be 
on the way; Jasper eyed these in- 
truders with irritation and con- 
tempt. 

“Those explosions. What’s going 
on here?” It was the cursed voice 
of authority speaking again. 

“Nothing!” snapped Jasper enig- 
matically. “Get along, you! We’re 
moving out of here.” 

That was his sole explanation, but 
he stood against Russel’s men so bel- 
ligerently that they shuffled their 
feet like a group of small boys. 
They hesitated, then moved on to- 
gether to find the cause of the dis- 
turbance elsewhere, as though no 
one of them had a mind of his own. 

Gorsch returned to the crucible at 
once, extracting every last calory 
out of his machine. The glass cover 
had blistered out of sight. There 
was no time to find out whether the 
air above the crucible had been af- 
fected or not, but they rightly as- 
sumed that the lacquer had been 
broken down into its essential gases. 

Gorsch worked as though he had 
only one purpose in life. He had 



rigged up a “booster” line for ad- 
ditional current and nursed this 
power supply until he came within a 
hair of reaching the fusing point 
of the crucible. There was smoke in 
the air. When he looked at Jasper 
there was impatience, but still some- 
thing boyish and eager in his man- 
ner, as though he realized he had 
done something well. 

“Ready?” asked Jasper. 

“Ready!” Gorsch croaked. 

Jasper painstakingly inserted a 
ball of waste into the jar, removed 
it and managed not to spill a drop. 
He applied this evenly to the armor 
plate, covering every pin point of 
lacquer, and tossed the waste into 
the furnace. There was an eruption 
of green flame; the vertical explo- 
sion which followed dropped a per- 
fectly cylindrical piece of the ceil- 
ing, a disk of beryl steel and con- 
crete, into the crucible, where it 
quickly melted and puddled like a 
mass of hot quicksilver. Jasper 
and Gorsch stood on their toes and 
cracked their jaws, momentarily 
deafened. 

The whole commission would be 
in on them in no time at all. Jas- 
per kept his knife blade against the 
plate until he could scrape through 
to bare metal. He waited a second 
or two before he hazarded every- 
thing, then clipped the screws hold- 
ing the plate and tossed it, plate, 
knife, clippers, and screw heads, into 
the crucible. Another column of 
green flame struck up from it. 

Gorsch and Jasper plugged their 
ears and watched fragments of con- 
crete shower down from the floors 
above. Molten stone splashed out 
of the furnace and peppered them 
with miniature showers of sand as 
particles exploded in the air. There 
were pin pricks of blood on Gorsch’s 
head. 



32 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



“The jar!” Jasper shouted. 

Gorsch pointed to a bottle on the 
shelf. Jasper and Gorsch never pre- 
pared a perfect binder without a 
perfect solvent for it. Jasper un- 
stoppered the bottle and poured its 
contents liberally around the jar of 
lacquer. Gorsch left the crucible 
and stationed'himself in the door- 
way. The empty halls were still re- 
verberating with a long chain of 
echoes, but he thought he could hear 
an uproar of voices below. 

“Here they come, Jasper!” he 
shouted. 

Jasper tugged at the jar. 

It gave. 

“Ready!” he screamed, with all 
the power in his lungs. 

Gorsch nodded and covered his 
face with his long, bony fingers. 
Jasper tossed the jar gently and 
carefully into the exact middle of 
the furnace and sprinted for the 
doorway. He was a fairly power- 
ful man, and picked up Gorsch as 
though he were a scarecrow. He 
guessed right, and leaped into the 
air with Gorsch in his arms as the 
lacquer went off. 

The crucible plunged down into 
earth, missing, as luck would have 
it, every last engineer in the Russel 
Commission below. Jasper and 
Gorsch had stopped their ears and 
felt rather than heard that cata- 
clysm of sound as they sprawled 
along the corridor. It was a for- 
timate thing, for a long sectioh of 
the wall of the building caved in 
following the tremendous suction, 
and eardrums burst with it. 



THE REPORT was heard, or so 
it was claimed, in Ireland. But what 
reached widespread fame was the 
pole of solid green fire that flag- 
staffed far out into space. It was 
an unforgettable sight, like a con- 
necting bar between earth and the 
shell of stars. 

The Hudson River, undammed, 
returned to its channel at once and 
tossed stranded boats into wreck- 
age. The uptown subways emptied, 
and for hours the whole under- 
ground system ran like a network of 
sewers. Uptown New York lay 
stinking under the sun, blanketed 
with muck that the diverted Hudson 
had left behind. 

There were earth temblors that 
year, running east and west. Out to 
sea the bed of the ocean boiled, and 
a certain area in the Atlantic was 
unpleasantly warm. 

As one consequence of the affair, 
a source of everlasting joy to Jasper 
and Gorsch, Francis Herder, Rus- 
sel’s chief engineer, came in for con- 
siderable attention. He had been 
working below with a machine using 
centrifugal explosives of a perfectly 
ordinary patent, and had bred at 
about the time Jasper threw the jar 
of green paint into Gorsch’s cru- 
cible. 

Jasper and Gorsch, totally help- 
less in the matter, had managed to 
advance the man, the engineer in 
charge at the time the Gotham Wall 
was broken down, into being the 
most-sought-after engineer any- 
where in the world. Neither coun- 
sel cared very much about that. 
They were free. 



Next Month: 

HE NEVER SLEPT 

by John Russell Fearn 



AST— 2 





Illustrated by 
C. R. Thomson 



Succubus 



The story of a strange scientific 
nightmare 

by K. F. Ziska 



A s I SIT here at my desk, the 
glow of the desk lamp seems 
^ to bolster up my outraged 
feelings. My mind is in a turmoil 
of emotions. I have just read the 
description of an experiment so re- 
volting, so unbelievable, that I hesi- 
tate to put it down. But I must do 
it or destroy my peace of mind. 

I, James F. Carleton, am a physi- 
cian. Although I may not have be- 
come eminent in my profession, I 
enjoy a fairly lucrative practice and 
have also become assistant to the 
AST— 3 



chief of staff at one of the larger 
hospitals. I say this with no undue 
pride in my accomplishments, but 
in the hope that this statement will 
lend credence to my fantastic story. 

When I was a medi-cal student, 
one of my classmates was Igor Bo- 
ronoff. Igor’s father, a Russian 
aristocrat, had fled to this country 
some years ago. On arrival here, he 
had purchased a Southern estate 
over which he reigned with almost 
feudal style. As he had studied 
medicine in his youth, he had urged 




34 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



his son to do likewise, even though 
his wealth did not make it necessary 
for Igor to practice afterward. 

Igor was the despair of his teach- 
ers. He often caused a near-riot in 
his classes by propounding some 
startling theory or ridiculing some 
hallowed tradition. His constant 
“Why?” soon became dreaded by his 
exasperated professors. 

During his last year, be was called 
home by the serious illness of his 
father. Shortly after Igor’s arrival, 
the old man died. When Igor re- 
turned, several weeks later, his eyes 
blazed more than ever. His irony, 
once amusing, now was sharp as 
steel. No one offered to arouse his 
vitriolic ridicule. Only in my com- 
pany would he relax and behave like 
a rational person. 

I can still hear the dean’s sigh of 
relief as he handed Igor his diploma. 
Igor accepted it, a sardonic smile 
playing about his lips. We bade 
each other good-by. 

“I am going to Europe for further 
study,” he announced. “If I am to 
carry on the work I wish to do, I 
must learn a great deal more. Good 
luck!” A wave of his hand, and he 
was gone. 

Several years passed during which 
I heard nothing from him. My prac- 
tice had increased; I did consider- 
able work at the hospital, and I had 
given him but fleeting thoughts at 
times. Then I ran across an article 
written by him. It gave a painstak- 
ing analysis of the differences of cell 
structure of hybrid plants. His the- 
ory, supported by countless experi- 
ments, threatened to overthrow the 
Mendelian law. Also I received a 
letter from him, pleading absorption 
in his work as an excuse for his 
seeming negligence. He was now 
living on his Southern estate. 

His articles, appearing at odd in- 
tervals, quickly attracted attention 



in the scientific world. His re- 
searches necessitated various 
changes in textbooks on biology and 
biochemistry. He became recog- 
nized as an outstanding authority 
on these subjects. Honors, degrees, 
club memberships, were- showered 
upon him. His home was invaded 
by strangers. Igor was furious. He 
declined all honors, fenced in his 
estate, and permitted vicious dogs tor 
roam about to insure absolute pri- 
vacy. He ceased to write articles 
and withdrew from the world. 

His letters became fewer and 
fewer as the years passed — ten, fif- 
teen years. His last letter, received 
a few months ago, spoke vaguely of 
some serious problem which was 
likely to change the course of bis 
life and begged me to visit him as 
soon as I could. Was this the bold, 
satiric Igor I once knew? Alarmed, 
I made hasty arrangements for my 
departure and left. 

AS I DROVE up the driveway, 
leading to a colonial mansion, I 
noted that the shrubbery and gar- 
dens had grown into a tangle of 
wilderness. Igor, himself, opened 
the door. His appearance shocked 
me. His hair was white. He had 
lost in weight till his skin appeared 
to hang loosely upon his bones. 

Emotion overwhelmed me. I 
opened my arms and cried: “Igor!” 

“Jim! Jim!” 

It was a wild cry of relief. He 
crept into my arms like a child. 
Hysterically, he sobbed upon my 
shoulder. Tears welled to my eyes 
as I patted his shoulders. Suddenly, 
he tore himself loose. 

“We’re acting like a pair of senti- 
mental fools. You must forgive me, 
Jim; but I’ve been under a severe 
mental strain. Come inside and 
make yourself comfortable. I hope 
you will excuse my appearance ; but 



SUCCUBUS 



35 



I didn’t expect to see you so soon. 
Make yourself at home while I 
dress.” 

When we met in the library some- 
what later, he seemed more like his 
old self. Dressed and shaved, com- 
posed, he looked like a different 
man. We seated ourselves, pufSng 
at our cigarettes. I decided the time 
had come when I must take action 
to solve this mystery. 

“Igor,” I asked, “what is the rea- 
son that prompts you to act as you 
do? As a doctor, you must know 
that physically you are completely 
wrecked. You absolutely withdraw 
from human contacts. You refuse 
all honors which are justly accorded 
you and insult the finest men and 
institutions with your vicious sar- 
casm. What is the real cause of 
your insane behavior? Has your 
work been unsuccessful? What of 
it? Is it worth your health?” 

He shook his head slowly. “Jim, 
my work has not been unsuccessful. 
I have met with success. Success!” 
He lingered over the last word as 
if he were weighing mentally its ex- 
act meaning and uttered a short, bit- 
ter laugh. 

Once more I decided to force the 
issue. “Igor,” I announced, “now 
that I am here, I intend to go to 
the bottom of this nonsense. I will 
not be satisfied with vague refer- 
ences. I propose to make an end of 
this damned mystery! Take me to 
your laboratory!” 

He bounded to his feet. His face 
was distorted. His outstretched 
arms warded me off. “No!” he 
shrieked. “No! You wouldn’t un- 
derstand. No, I tell you!” 

His shrieks affected my com- 
posure. It was only through a de- 
cided effort that I controlled myself 
and sank back into the chair. 

“Igor!” I exclaimed. “Igor, calm 
yourself ! Sit down !” 



Trembling, he collapsed into his 
chair. Slowly, reason returned to 
him. He sat with his elbows on his 
knees, rocking back and forth, run- 
ning his fingers through his hair. 
He got up again, pacing around the 
room. He walked over to a desk, 
unlocked a drawer, and took out a 
large leather folder containing a 
sheaf of papers. He gave it to me. 

“Jim,” he was speaking slowly, 
carefully, “this folder contains notes 
which will explain everything to 
you. They are a record of the 
thoughts and experiences which 
have occurred to me during the time 
I spent in conducting my experi- 
ment. These notes are not techni- 
cal. I asked you to come down here, 
intending to tell you the whole 
story; but I can’t do it. I want you 
to take this notebook back with you 
to read in strict privacy. I want 
you also to give me your word as 
a gentleman that you will not di- 
vulge its contents to any one.” 

“All right, Igor. I won’t reveal 
its contents,” I promised. 

“One more thing,” he proceeded, 
“when you read this diary, I want 
you to read it as the doctor, and 
not as my friend. Leave all per- 
sonal feelings aside.” 

I assured him I would try to fol- 
low his instructions. 

We talked late into the night; and 
he appeared greatly improved in 
spirits when we retired. I left the 
next day, after he had assured me 
he felt better. 

I arrived at home late in the after- 
noon. I gulped down my dinner and 
retired to my study. At last, I was 
to know the secret which had nearly 
wrecked my friend’s health and 
peace of mind. Had I known the 
horror which this diary was to in- 
spire in me, I should never have 
read it. As it was, I turned the 
leather cover, and began to read: 



36 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



“TO-DAY MARKS the turning 
point in my life. To-day I planted 
a seed which, in due time, will shat- 
ter every so-called law of nature and 
cause a cataclysm in the scientific 
world; or burst my theory, based 
upon years of study and experimen- 
tation, like a soap bubble. I have 
started this record — perhaps I 
should call it a diary — as an outlet 
for my emotions. I cannot confide 
my hopes and fears to any one, and 
I have chosen this method of reliev- 
ing my pent-up feelings. 

“It is strange that events, appar- 
ently having no connection what- 
ever, may yet be closely linked to 
each other. A professor’s groping 
for a fitting simile led to — so I hope 
— a discovery of far-reaching impor- 
tance. It was during my junior 
year at medical college. A profes- 
sor in one of my classes endeavored 
to explain some point pertaining to 
parthenogenesis. He attempted to 
demonstrate the impossibility of 
transferring functions of certain 
species to other species. He finished 
his remarks with ‘and this is as im- 
possible as — as ’ he groped for a 

fitting simile, concluding trium- 
phantly, ‘as fertilization between 
species of plant and animal life.’ 

“I disliked this man intensely. 
He was utterly dogmatic and unim- 
aginative. For this reason, I took 
exception to practically everything 
he said. When he uttered this state- 
ment, I protested immediately. He 
brushed my protest aside impa- 
tiently, mumbling something about 
‘laws of nature,’ and went on with 
his lecture. I was highly incensed, 
but had to admit to myself that I 
had no grounds for a reasonable de- 
bate. That moment I vowed to my- 
self that some day I would prove 
him to be nothing more than a 
highly trained parrot. 

“When I finally thought I pos- 



sessed sufficient knowledge to start 
my research work, I spared no ex- 
pense in fitting out a laboratory with 
the finest of equipment. 

“At the end of two years of work 
I found myself up against a blank 
wall. But I did not become discour- 
aged. It was true I had spent two 
years, but I had gained valuable in- 
formation during this time. At 
least, my problem had emerged from 
a mass of diverse experiments. It 
was to produce cells, both plant and 
animal, which were sufficiently alike 
in structure, chemical constituency, 
and activity to permit generation of 
a hybrid cell. 

“Many weary months followed. I 
thought myself near success several 
times, but the cells did not fuse. I 
tried hybridization of plants and 
also of animals. I found myself 
limited in this procedure as too 
much hybridization was likely to re- 
sult in debilitation of the newly cre- 
ated cells. Again followed a long 
period of tedious work. I did not 
find what I was seeking, but I did 
observe some phenomena which in- 
terested me sufficiently to publish. 

“I had not foreseen the result of 
these publications. I was hailed as 
a genius and annoyed to the point of 
distraction with numberless requests 
and visits. As I detest publicity, I 
made short work of these bothera- 
tions. 

“At last, chemical and microscopic 
examination convinced me I had 
produced cells which would fuse. I 
joined them and awaited results. I 
believe I made microscopic examina- 
tions of the cells every ten minutes 
till common sense told me I was be- 
having like a schoolboy. But I still 
made periodical examinations. Dur- 
ing one of these, I made an astound- 
ing discovery. I looked again. 
There was no doubt. Some of the 
cells had fused. I performed a wild, 



SUCCUBUS 



37 



triumphal dance, shouting sense- 
lessly, and upsetting half of the fur- 
niture. I had succeeded! 

“THE NEXT thing to do was to 
apply my experiments to a practical 
end. But there I ran into the diffi- 
culty which I had prophesied to my- 
self. Decided weakening of paren- 
tal strains, due to continued hibridi- 
zation, resulted in the inception of 
frail, plantlike monstrosities with 
animal characteristics. They died 
almost as soon as they broke through 
the soil. Atavism was very pro- 
nounced and frequent. Some of the 
animal-plant creatures had almost all 
of the characteristics of plants and 
hardly any of those possessed by 
animals. Others again were mostly 
animal. They never grew beyond 
fetal state and died beneath the soil. 

“I was deeply perplexed. If I 
tried to use a pure strain, the cells 
did not fuse; if I hybridized the 
parent cells far enough to permit 
fusion, I produced weaklings which 
died shortly after inception. I was 
greatly disappointed; but now I re- 
fused to give up. I tortured my 
brains for another method of ap- 
proaching the desired result. 

“Then a revolutionary idea struck 
me. What would happen if I at- 
tempted fertilization between a pure 
cell of one parent and another cell 
derived from hybridization of cells 
of the other parent? I went one 
step further. What would happen 
if I attempted fusion between a hu- 
man spermatozoon and the ovule of 
a properly hybridized plant? In- 
stantly I proceeded to test the possi- 
bility of my hypothesis. I worked 
with feverish excitement. At last, 
I was ready. I prepared the final 
experiment. My hands shook as I 
adjusted the microscope. I looked. 
The blood mounted suddenly to my 
head. I had performed a miracle. 



The ovum was fertilized! 

“I waited till the ovum developed 
into a seed. My heart beat audibly 
as I planted the grown seed. I regu- 
lated the temperature and humidity 
of the laboratory with infinite care. 
I gave a measured supply of water 
at regular intervals to the specially 
prepared soil. I did everything pos- 
sible to further the metamorphosis 
of my creation. I could only wait 
now. 

“I watch and watch, but nothing 
happens. Am I wrong after all? I 
cannot be! If I am — but why even 
think of that? I know I am right. 
It is just a matter of time, of pa- 
tience. 

“Still nothing! This suspense is 
trying my nerves to the limits of 
their endurance. 

“The mother plant is a hybrid of 
two perennial plants. The period of 
growth, as determined from that 
source, should be a year. As the 
growth of the male source is less 
than a year, the organism I have cre- 
ated should begin active life in 
somewhat less than a year after I 
had planted it. But — have I the 
right to generalize? I am dealing 
with a phenomenon which is totally 
unknown to science. 

“Nothing yet! There is nothing 
I can do but wait — ^wait. My nerves 
are beginning to assert themselves. 
I find sleep increasingly difficult. I 
have foimd bromides necessary to 
quiet my jumping nerves. 

“I have won ! To-day, as I looked 
mechanically at the humus, my at- 
tention was riveted to a slight break 
in the soil. I was on my knees in 
a moment. With uttermost delicacy, 
I removed small pieces of the soil 
which surrounded the break. 1 saw 
a tiny, white growth in the aperture 
which I had made. I cannot sit here 
any longer to write. I must return 
to the laboratory. 



38 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



“There is no question about it. I 
have performed the impossible. It 
is growing. It is now about a half 
inch above the surface of the soil. 
This is the height it ha? attained 
during a period of three weeks. 

“It has grown to the height of an 
inch. It is a pinkish-white growth, 
similar in form to that of a pestle 
used by chemists for mixing coarse- 
grained substances. Using a strong 
magnifying glass, I determined that 
the largeness of the top was caused 
by the fact that it was rolled un- 
der. It resembles a human finger 
bent underneath as far as possible. 
On the sides of the growth are two 
finlike appendages also partly rolled 
up. From its base grow three pro- 
tuberances, in shape like large beans. 
The skin, which covers the whole 
mass, is very soft and wrinkled in 
deep folds. 

“I made a startling discovery to- 
day. I entered the laboratory after 
I had taken a brisk walk in the cool 
air. Stooping over to brush away 
some loose earth, I happened to 
touch the plant lightly with my fin- 
gers. It jerked away with a visible 
motion ! 

“Its folds are beginning to fill out. 
The appendages and the top are 
gradually straightening. I have no- 
ticed that the growths at its base are 
diminishing in size. I cannot say 
what their function is, although I 
surmise them to be concerned in the 
nutrition of the organism. 

“The appendages have almost un- 
rolled. They are quite similar to the 
arms of human beings. Its top is al- 
most straight now, only the very tip 
being still bent under. A large 
crease, which, starting at its middle, 
runs down the center to the bottom, 
suggests a human figure standing 
erect with legs pressed tightly to- 
gether. 

“I wonder what sex, if any, my 



creation will have? Its shape is still 
too indefinite to tell. 

“DESPITE my exultation, I felt 
revolted at the gruesome discovery 
I made to-day. The top of the plant- 
creature had lifted itself sufficiently 
to permit investigation. I knelt 
down to peer underneath. The dis- 
passionate examination of the scien- 
tist gave way to a feeling of shud- 
dering aversion. I saw the unmis- 
takable outlines of a human face! 

“The eyes, mouth, and nose were 
quite clearly delineated. Strangely 
enough, its eyes were still shut. I 
could see no ears, although two tiny 
knobs at both sides give promise of 
developing into ears at a late stage 
of growth. A faint indication of 
silky down leads me to think it will 
also have hair. 

“There is no longer any doubt in 
my mind about the appendages. 
They are arms. They are com- 
pletely unrolled now and show five 
tiny fingers on each hand. 

“Its eyes are open. There must 
be a decided lack of certain pig- 
ments in my creation, for, like an 
Albino, its pupils are pink. 

“I am overjoyed. I have not 
brought into existence an asexual 
monstrosity — my creation is female. 
I was afraid I had created some sex- 
less thing; but now I know I have 
hurdled even that barrier. 

“It No ! I will no longer use 

this pronoun. I will use ‘she,’ in 
speaking of her. She is now a foot 
in height. I was right in assuming 
that the knobs at the sides of her 
head would develop into ears. Un- 
like human ears, they are not irregu- 
lar in outline, but resemble, smooth, 
one-petaled corollas of flower cups 
in their delicate roundness. The 
down on her head is becoming 
heavier and longer. It is of silky 
texture, a light blond — almost white 



SUCCUBUS 



39 



— color gives it a beautiful sheen. 

“I was surprised to note her legs 
are not grown together as I had 
thought. As she moved to-day, I ob- 
served a space between them. No 
doubt, she held them together until 
now to support her weight more 
easily. I have never examined her 
to determine the possible exist- 
ence of a bony structure within 
her, because I was apprehensive 
of injuring her. I inspected her 
closely to-day, using extreme care 
in doing so. I detected the pres- 
ence of a cartilaginous structure 
within her, although I could not find 
any indication of joints such as 
knees, elbows, or wrists. The 
growths which are attached to her 
ankles — she really has none; I use 
this term to denote location — have 
shrunken in size until they look like 
raisins. 

“I can sit by the hour to watch 
her. She is perfectly motionless for 
long periods, except for the blink- 
ing of her eyes. Then she will start 
moving her body and arms about 
slowly, flexing herself. 

“To-day, as I was performing 
some tests at my bench, 1 heard an 
odd hissing sound behind me. It 
was a faint, steady sound, and its 
exact location was difficult to detect. 
Suddenly, the truth dawned on me. 
Her lips were moving. A new possi- 
bility suggested itself to me imme- 
diately. Perhaps I could teach her 
to speak. 

“She has become rather listless 
during the last few days. I exam- 
ined her, but could not find any- 
thing which would induce her tired 
actions. 

“She grows more languid every 
day. I am becoming alarmed. What 
can be wrong? 

“I am desperate. If her condition 
does not improve soon, she will die. 



I have tried to feed her liquid nour- 
ishment such as milk and broths; 
but she spewed them out. I am al- 
most certain it is a matter of insuf- 
ficient nutrition. I examined her 
thoroughly. The action of her heart 
and lungs has weakened measurably. 
I noted that the growths of her an- 
kles have disappeared altogether. 
Evidently, they furnished her with 
nutriment. 

“It might be a lack of proteins. 
Since she refuses to take food 
through her mouth, they would have 
to be assimilated by her through the 
soil. In order to provide for quick 
assimilation, I had to prepare a 
liquid solution containing a high 
percentage of proteins. I checked a 
list of probable fluids. None of them 
was ideal. Then it flashed on me — 
animal blood. It was rich in pro- 
teins and easily taken up by the soil. 
Hastily, I killed some chickens and 
sprinkled the blood on the soil. 
Anxiously, I awaited results. They 
were quickly forthcoming. Even a 
few hours later, she appeared to be 
more lively; and in a week’s time 
she was as well as ever. 

“I am trying to teach her to speak 
by means of association of ideas. I 
point to some object and repeat its 
name many times. I shall find it 
hard work, as her voice is more of 
a whisper than a full-throated sound. 

“She is now three feet in height. 
I transplanted her to-day. She had 
been planted in a box which stood 
on the laboratory floor. I made a 
large circular container from con- 
crete, pouring the mixture directly 
on the concrete floor. I then filled 
this circular space with the proper 
soil. It took most of my strength to 
carry her, box and all, to her new 
home. 

“She is learning to speak. Her 
voice continues to be a whispering 



40 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



sound as she is unable to impart a 
resonant sound to her vowels. As 
soon as she is able to speak, I shall 
publish the results of my experi- 
ment. It needs little imagination to 
visualize the uproar which will fol- 
low my revelation. 

“I CANNOT describe my feeling 
toward her. She is more to me than 
the result of an experiment. I think 
I can best describe it by comparing 
it to the affection one holds for a 
beloved pet. Such an emotion is 
totally unscientific; but I cannot 
deny its existence. Again, this feel- 
ing is the only one which stands 
forth clearly from a shadowy back- 
ground of strange disquiet and faint 
revulsion. 

“She is growing rapidly. To-day, 
while I was sprinkling the ground 
with blood, she appeared to sniff the 
air appreciatively. An investigative 
spirit prompted me to put a few 
drops on her lips. For the first time, 
she seemed to display real emotion. 
She uttered a number of words, jum- 
bling them together regardless of 
meaning, and, clutching the flutter- 
ing fowl from my hands, brought it 
to her mouth. As a doctor, I was 
pleased ; as a man, I was repelled by 
the disgusting sight. 

“She is almost as tall as I. I sat 
in the laboratory, studying her, de- 
bating what course I should follow. 
My experiment is completed. I 
should announce it to the world. 
But I realize what that would mean. 
Hordes of doctors, reporters, stu- 
dents, pests of all descriptions, 
would descend on me to destroy my 
peace. Aside from that, I have 
grown very much attached to her. 
I could not bear to see her subjected 
to the morbid gaze of curiosity seek- 
ers. 

“I must attempt to analyze my 
feelings. I have developed a habit 



of sitting in the laboratory, without 
either observing her or performing 
any experimental work. Appar- 
ently, I sit there just for the sake 
of her company. I detected myself 
in thinking that I really considered 
her to be beautiful. 

“Whenever she eats, I am forced 
to turn my head. I bring her live 
chickens, rabbits, and ducks, which 
she clutches from my hands with 
wolfish avidity. At such times, I 
cannot describe her as anything else 
than an animal. 

“She still grows. A frightening 
possibility has presented itself to 
me. What will happen, if she con- 
tinues to grow? She is now as tall 
as I, and — I am sure — much heavier 
and stronger. I am beginning to 
worry about her growth. 

“I never suspected her tremendous 
strength. I put my hand in hers and 
pressed it by way of suggestion. 
She returned the pressure with such 
terrific force that I cried out with 
pain. Every bone and tissue of my 
hand was so badly bruised that it 
has swollen to twice its normal size. 

“She fascinates me. Her large, 
brooding eyes follow me wherever 
I go within the laboratory. She 
makes quick, impatient movements 
when I pass by her, as if she wanted 
me to stay close to her. But I have 
grown wary of her strength and 
keep out of reach. 

“She exerts a bewitching influence 
upon me. The large eyes, their pink 
pupils, weave a hypnotic spell about 
me. The full, sensuous lips, crim- 
son as the blood which nourishes 
them, beckon to me. Her body, so 
strong, so beautiful in its very sug- 
gestion of power, exercises an irre- 
sistible appeal to my senses. If only 

What am I saying, thinking? 

What is wrong with me? Am I go- 
ing mad? 



SUCCUBUS^ 



41 



“A TERRIBLE thing happened 
to-day. It may appear grotesque, 
even ludicrous, to others, but to me 
it is terrible. As I passed by her, 
I suddenly found myself clutched 
within two hands which held me like 
a vise. They spun me around like 
a top, so that I faced her. Sinuous 
arms coiled about me, drew me 
closer with irresistible force. I 
struggled, I cried out in exaspera- 
tion. Then, becoming alarmed, I 
screamed in utter fright. Inexor- 
ably, I was pressed against her body. 
Red, lascivious lips hovered above 
mine. Her powerful embrace roused 
long-forgotten instincts within me — 
instincts elemental as nature. Rea- 
son left me. Long pent-up emotion 
broke through walls of restraint. I 
kissed her fiercely, passionately, 
again and again. I forgot all — all 
but the wondrous creature in my 
arms. 

“I cannot sleep well. An odd feel- 
ing of dread, some vague premoni- 
tion of danger depresses me. Weird 
nightmares trouble me. I awake in 
the early hours of the morning, 
bathed in cold perspiration, and it 
takes every ounce of my strength to 
keep from screaming in sheer ter- 
ror. 

“I am neither sleeping nor eating. 
When I am awake, I realize the hor- 
ror of my situation and my mental 
agony is excruciating. Sleep is but 
a mockery. Frightful shapes, awe- 
inspiring monsters gnaw my vitals, 
tear my heart, till, shrieking with 
fear, I return to the horrors of con- 
scious thought. 

“The servants have left me. I 
cursed them for a pack of supersti- 
tious cowards. At least, I do not 
have to pretend any more. I can 
rave, if I feel like it. 

“Immersed in a maelstrom of emo- 
tions, I have lost all interest in my 
appearance. I saw myself in one of 



the hall mirrors. I saw a bony scare- 
crow whose deeply lined face was 
crowned with a mop of unkempt 
white hair. I taunted it with sadis- 
tic delight. 

“ ‘So you are Igor Boronoff ! The 
great scientist! Scientist? Bah! 
You are a fool! A fool, I tell you! 
A fool!’ 

“I saw him mouth at me. En- 
raged, I plunged my fist into his 
sneering face. A sharp pain shot 
through me. Stupidly, I stared at 
a badly cut hand. 

“Oh, God! I was going insane! 

“Whimpering, not at the pain 
which the hurt caused me, but at 
the realization of my horrible plight, 
I ran toward the laboratory to dress 
my wound. I stopped short at the 
door. No! Not in there! Not in 
there! Rather than enter, I band- 
aged the cut with strips torn from 
a shirt. 

“I must do something before it is 
too late. But what? What? I 
paced up and down the library, re- 
jecting one plan after another. I 
stopped. Why had I not thought of 
that before? Jim! Hard-beaded 
Jim! He was the answer. He is my 
hope, my salvation. I shall write to 
him to come, so that I can explain 
everything to him. He shall decide 
for me. I have no more strength 
left to decide anything. I shall 
write the letter now while I am sane 
enough to do so. 

“I have mailed the letter. Already 
I feel relieved. I must go now to 

feed her. Must I? Why not 

No; I cannot do that! If I did, I 
would be more of a monster than she 
is. I will not add murder — such it 
would be to me — to my sins. 

“I will not deny it any longer. I 
love her! I love her with all my 
heart, mind, and body. Again, I 
knew her embrace — I yielded to her 
— ^why should I lie? I courted it. 



42 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



My actions may be vile, but I can- 
not help mj.'self. I have lost my 
courage and self-respect. I will tell 
Jim nothing. He would never un- 
derstand. His type of mind could 
not ” 

THE DIARY of Igor Boronoff 
ended there. 

I jumped to my feet. Horror, dis- 
gust, and rage struggled within me. 
I sat down again and wrote him that 
he no longer existed for me. I 
would denounce him for his vileness 
and have him barred from further 
practice of medicine, whose name he 
had befouled. 

His reply was terse and insulting : 
“I thought you were a scientist. In- 
stead, you are a fool. I should have 
known better than to trust you. I 
shall trouble you no more.” 

Like a nightmare which has 
passed, the memory of Igor’s revela- 
tion had begun to fade. The press- 
ing demands on my time had almost 
caused me to forget my experience, 
when I received a telegram from 
him. I tore it open and read : “Save 
me. Come at once. For God’s sake 
don’t fail me!” 

With frenzied haste, I packed. 
My eyes fell on my revolver. I hesi- 
tated, then stuffed it into my coat 
pocket. I had an hour’s wait till my 
train arrived. In mental agony, I 
strode up and down the platform. 
At last I sat in the train. I gazed 
at the moving landscape with un- 
seeing eyes. I tried to read. I 
walked back and forth on the train, 
smoking incessantly. Despite all my 
fidgeting, time dragged intermin- 
ably. 

Small, dark clouds rolled up in 
the sky, obscuring the evening sun 
at intervals. They scudded swiftly, 
presaging a storm. Dusk ap- 
proached, turning quickly into dark- 
ness. 



I descended at the tiny station and 
hurried to a garage. Its owner, who 
lived above it, came down to answer 
my call. 

“Yes, suh! I’ll rent you one. The 
cah’s kinda old, but it’s in good 
shape. The road ” 

I cut him short, left a deposit, and 
jumped in the automobile. 

The headlights bored into the 
darkness ahead of me, illuminating 
the narrow, bumpy mud road, over 
which I flew, disregarding the se- 
vere jolting. Frequent flashes of 
lightning revealed the tops of trees 
bending in the strong wind. The 
rumble of distant thunder came to 
my ears. Large drops of rain tapped 
on the top of the car, then ceased 
again. The moon sent a pale light 
over the forest, then, disappearing 
behind the clouds, left utter dark- 
ness. 

Suddenly, I became conscious of 
the gateposts at the head of the 
drive. A glance showed that the 
gates were open. I careened be- 
tween them as I roared down the 
drive. With a jerk, I stopped at 
the entrance of the house and ran 
up the steps. The house was dark; 
no sound came from within. I rang 
the bell repeatedly, but received no 
answer. I pounded on the door, 
screamed Igor’s name. The house 
remained dark, silent. I tried to 
break through the door; but the 
massive oak withstood my strongest 
efforts. 

I ran around one side of the house, 
screaming. The storm whipped the 
words from my lips; the thunder 
drowned my cries. Frantic, I 
dashed to the back of the house. 
Lights showed through the partly 
drawn shades of two windows on 
the ground floor. I was weak with 
apprehension; my legs trembled as 
I ran toward them. I tried the win- 
dows, but found them fastened. I 



SUCCUBUS 



43 



broke the panes of one window, 
lifted it, and jumped inside. 

A large, marble-topped bench, fit- 
ted with racks which contained nu- 
merous bottles and laboratory equip- 
ment, obstructed my view of the cen- 
ter of the room. Against the wall 
to my left, I saw a long white ta- 
ble. On it stood a Bunsen burner, 
whose flame heated the contents of 
a metal vessel. Dense, yellowish 
fumes, which forced me to cough, 
steamed from below the cover vdiich 
was clamped to the container. I ran 
toward the table to shut oS the 
flame. As I passed the marble 
bench, I gained a clear view of the 
laboratory. 

STARK HORROR froze me to 
the floor. A frightful sight held my 
eyes. An immense, female creature 
held Igor in a terrific embrace. His 
eyes protruded from their sockets; 
his head was twisted into an impos- 
sible angle. His arms were straight, 
stiff as iron rods. The hands were 
clutched tightly into fists, the white- 
ness of his knuckles attesting to the 
convulsive strength which had 
clenched them. The legs were drawn 
up to his body in a knot. Igor’s 
life had been crushed out. 

She dropped his body. Red eyes 
stared at me. Her hair, which was 
almost white, tumbled about her 
heavy shoulders. Her massive body 
was like an enlarged living model of 
some ancient, evil goddess. My hor- 
ror grew as I observed that her legs 
joined at the ends into a corrugated, 
greenish trunk which pierced into 
the earth beneath her. She was dia- 
bolically beautiful, elemental, evil, 
foul — yet drawing something within 
me toward her with irresistible fas- 
cination. She uttered strange, sibi- 



lant sounds. Her arms wove in the 
air, coiling and twining like living 
snakes. 

Her movements broke the spell. 
An insensate fury overwhelmed me. 
She — this was the thing which had 
broken my friend, his mind and 
body. The crash of my revolver 
rang out, again and again. My fin- 
ger continued to pull the trigger till 
the click of the hammer on empty 
shells brought me to the realization 
that I had emptied the gun. With 
an inarticulate cry, I flung myself 
through the window, into the wild 
storm. 

Lightning, thunder, rain, raged 
about me as I stumbled along. The 
cool rain brought me to my senses.. 
I decided to return to the house. 
A faint red glow showed through 
the trees at my right. It puzzled 
me for a moment. Then I disre- 
garded it and kept on in the direc- 
tion in which I assumed the house 
to be. It was not long before I gave 
up. I had lost my way. 

The glow had heightened till it 
painted the scene about me with a 
dark-red color. Sudden realization 
of its true meaning came to me. I 
remembered the fuming vessel. The 
house was on fire. I must get Igor’s 
body. I thrashed through the 
woods, stumbling, falling. Branches 
of trees whipped blows to my face. 
Now the woods were brightly illu- 
minated. Finally, I reached the 
clearing around the house. 

The house was in flames. I was 
too late 

I cannot tell what happened after 
that. I do not know how I left, nor 
how I reached home. There is a 
blank space in my life I shall never 
be able to fill. Perhaps it is better 
so. It may have saved my reason. 




As they stared at the vast, hazy machinery, concentric circles of brilliant 
colors began to emanate from the creature hovering near by. 



The BRAIN of UGHT 

A Thought-variant Novel 

by John Russell Fearn 



I AM QUITE convinced that the 
new radio and television system 
will leave all the present sys- 
tems entirely in the shade,” declared 
Max Forsythe. “My father began 
the experiments in his early youth, 
and now that he has gone my friend 
and I are finishing the task. In a 
month, maybe even less, my machine 
will be ready for public demonstra- 
tion.” 

“Anything further, Mr. For- 
sythe?” inquired one of the group 
of reporters, gathered aroimd, scrib- 
bling notes. 

“No; the technical details I re- 
serve to myself. That’s all, boys — 
boost it up!” 

“We will! Thanks!” 

“Good morning, Mr. Forsythe.” 
Talking amongst themselves, the 
reporters filed out of the luxurious 
New York apartment. 

Max Forsythe, thirty-two, radio 
engineer and scientist, stood con- 
sidering for a space, a faint smile on 
his pleasant face. Then he crossed 
to the bell and pushed it. 

“Lawson, I’m going to the labora- 
tory,” he remarked, as his manser- 
vant entered. “Miss Walford will 
be here for lunch — so, you know 
what to do with the oysters.” 
“Indeed yes, sir. I’ll have them 
prepared in ample time. Shall I 
show Miss Walford into the labora- 
tory?” 

“Yes; you might as well.” 

In a moment Max was in the long 
laboratory adjoining his flat, gazing 
fondly at the apparatus in which all 



the hopes of both himself and his 
friend — Robert Walford, brother of 
his fiancee — were placed. Simulta- 
neous radio and television waves, in- 
suring perfect synchronization. 

With the air of an expert he 
tightened up a terminal and looked 
about him at the massive power ma- 
chines and generators. 

“Since light consists of an essen- 
tially basic electromagnetic prop- 
erty, and sound also, I don’t see any- 
thing wrong with the idea,” he mur- 
mured, half aloud. “And the con- 
verter makes ups^for the difference 
in the rates of speed between sound 
and light — the former at eleven hun- 
dred feet a second and the latter at 
one hundred and eighty-six thou- 
sand miles a second — the converter 
making them both equal in basis, or 
at a fixed radiation of ninety-eight 
thousand to the second ” 

“Quite so !” interjected a feminine 
voice solemnly. 

Turning, the young scientist be- 
held Ada Walford advancing slowly 
down the laboratory. There was a 
faint twinkle in her blue eyes as she 
absorbed something of his intense 
earnestness. 

“Hello, Ada!” he exclaimed geni- 
ally, going over to greet her. “Just 
expounding to myself ; sort of helps 
to clear ideas up, don’t you think? 
You perhaps know the principle of 
ordinary television — radiation of 
energy, photo-electric cells, and all 
that. But this system is different, 
different even from the original idea 
dad conceived, now that your 



46 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



brother and I have been busy on it 
— him in particular. The only thing 
that really troubles us is the con- 
founded Heaviside Layer. You 
see, but for that we might be able to 
reach even Mars with our radia- 
tions; as it is our new ultra-short 
carrier wave will only pierce the 
Heaviside Layer and lose much of 
its power in doing it, causing the 
carrier wave to peter out when only 
halfway through space to Mars. 
Then, again, there will be the old 
trouble of fading.” 

“Yes,” assented the girl solemnly, 
but still half smiling. “The Heavi- 
side Layer — I know it causes fad- 
ing in radio, but that’s all I do 
know.” 

Max wrinkled his brow. “I had 
thought of an annihilator beam be- 
ing incorporated in the carrier wave, 
a sort of invisible beam of pure force 
that would destroy the atoms and 
protons within the transmitting 
beam. That should stop static and 
fading. You see, static from the 
Heaviside Layer is caused by the 
free movement of the atoms and pro- 
tons, which ” 

“Stop!” Ada gasped, feigning to 
reel giddily. “You know all about 
it, and when you get going you’re 
like a steam engine. Ease up, can’t 
you? I’m not hot on protons, you 
know. Which reminds me, how 
does this old thing work, anyhow? 
You’re mighty secretive, and so’s 
Bob. I might as well try to open 
an oyster as get him to speak.” 

Max laughed. “All right. I’ll give 
you a demonstration — and, talking 
of oysters, we’ll have some for 
lunch; I know you like them. Now, 
this machine is like advanced beam 
radio. Don’t you see that the con- 
stituent light emanations of the 
original object, when projected by 
this television carrier wave of ultra- 
short length, will be bound to re- 



sult in the actual image at the other 
end, where the receiver is?” 

“Ah-ha, I see that. But won’t it 
take an awful lot of light to do it?” 

“Yes; but we draw our supplies 
from solar light— daylight. It’s the 
only light which is capable of giv- 
ing the ultimate of illumination, 
which I need for this process. As 
for the sound, that’s not difficult — 
purely a matter of stepping up the 
volume of the actual sound energy 
dissipated into the air, so that the 
original sound has all its power 
when it arrives at the receiver. It 
must be understood, though, that the 
radiations of sound are transmitted ; 
sound itself, of course, would fade 
— indeed stop altogether — if pro- 
jected into space. I’ll demonstrate 
the transmitter to you. We have no 
receiver here, so you’ll have to imag- 
ine that bit.” 

There came the clicking of 
switches and buttons, and the en- 
tire laboratory suddenly became 
plunged into darkness as steel shut- 
ters closed across the windows and 
skylights. Dynamos and generators 
began to hum rhythmically — then 
from a lateral slat in a gray sheet of 
metal there suddenly stabbed a 
blinding beam of white light. 

“Here, put these glasses on,” Max 
cautioned, handing over a pair of 
tinted goggles. “This light when 
I get it going can destroy eyesight. 
Guess it leaves an oxyacetylene 
welder in the same class as a candle. 
Now watch!” 

HIMSELF protected by violet 
goggles. Max increased the power of 
the beam, until at last a seemingly 
dimensional, solid bar of white sear- 
ing flame existed between the lateral 
slat of the power-gathering machine 
and the radio-televisor transmitter. 
The energy crackled and hissed, 
strange roller-shaped bearings and 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



47 



cogs span silently in thickly lubri- 
cated sockets. 

“Pure light!” Max shouted ecsta- 
tically. “All about us exist the ra- 
diations we know as light, because 
our eyes are fitted to receive those 
radiations and interpret them. As a 
rule, light is diffused by atmosphere, 
but here we have the real thing — 
solar radiation — ultimate of light — 
the very stuff that makes the entire 
universe seeable at all! You under- 
stand? Radiant light?” 

“Yes; I think so,” the girl an- 
swered, her lips parted in excite- 
ment. Then suddenly she gripped 
Max’s arm. “But, Max, who on earth 
could tolerate that light to have a 
picture of themselves transmitted?” 

“Nobody has to, sweetheart. This 
is the transmitter for sending out 
the image, after it has been absorbed 
— or rather after its light value has 
been absorbed. You see, everything 
that is visible radiates light; this 
machine captures those radiations, 
after the object to be transmitted 
has been brightly illumined in order 
to make ultimate light value at the 
receiving end greater. Then this 
light beam takes the impressions 
and passes them into the trans- 
former in the shape of a blinding 
rod of fire, such as you see. This 
in turn is passed on to the ultra- 
short carrier wave. See? Of course, 
we’re not transmitting an image 
now, this is only a demonstration.” 
He switched the power off abruptly, 
and daylight came in again. With 
a grin he pushed backTiis goggles 
and took the girl’s pair. 

“It’s — it’s marvelous. Max,” she 
admitted. “Yet, somehow, it scares 
me. It’s just the sort of thing you 
and Bob would think up. It looks 
as though it would explode.” 

“Oh, nonsense, Ada — just a fancy! 
But, say, let’s get along and have 



something to eat. The oysters are 
calling. Come on!” 

Arm in arm they walked slowly 
from the laboratory, then at the 
doorway leading into the flat the 
girl paused and indicated a mighty 
shell of aluminium standing like a 
sentinel against the farther wall. 

“What’s that thing, Max? An an- 
tique?” 

“Anything but, Ada. Dad once 
got the idea of building a space pro- 
jectile on a small scale. That 
aluminium shell represents as far as 
he got. It’s a perfect vehicle, com- 
plete with manhole and everything. 
The only thing it lacks is motive 
power,” he concluded with a grin. 
“I just keep it there, in case some 
day it may be useful. But come on ; 
I’m hungry.” 

A few minutes later they were 
partaking of lunch, looking out over 
New York from the high elevation 
of the apartment, Lawson silent and 
attentive in the background. The 
radio played softly pleasing music 
from a local station. Max glanced 
at the instrument, and a smile came 
to his face. 

“Prepare, sweet one, to drink a 
toast to the most antique of all man’s 
inventions — radio !” he exclaimed 
laughingly, raising his glass. “For 
so it will be, this time next week!” 
He rose to his feet in solemn dig- 
nity, hand holding the lapel of his 
coat, then the toast he was about to 
utter was frozen on his lips. 

Cold, unreasoning terror swept up 
and engulfed him. For, silently, 
without warning, a sudden dead 
blackness had descended upon 
everything. Indeed it was more 
than blackness — it was the complete 
absence of all light. Rayless, void- 
like infinity. The tumbler dropped 
from his grasp with a splintering 
crash to the table. 

“Heavens, I can’t see !” he shouted 



48 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



hoarsely, then something of the fear 
that he had been mysteriously 
stricken blind was relieved when 
Ada’s voice came to him — and Law- 
son’s. 

“Neither can I, Max! Not a 
thing! Not even the window!’’ 

“Sir, sir — what am I to do?” 

Max made an impulsive step for- 
ward, forgot the table, and crashed 
into it. It overturned with the rat- 
tle of smashing dishes and glasses. 
He blundered about until he found 
the girl’s arm; she was shaking with 
sudden fright. 

“All right, Ada — take it easy!” he 
breathed. “Lawson, try and find 
the electric-light switch.” 

“Yes, sir— I’ll try.” 

An interval of shuffling and scrap- 
ing followed, muttered remarks, 
then the electric light fiooded the 
apartment. 

“Thank goodness for that!” Max 
remarked. “Obviously this form of 
light isn’t affected anyway.” 

RELIEVED for the moment, the 
three sat down heavily, then, at a 
glance from each other, they moved 
to the window and looked out. 
There was nothing there — just that 
utter, incredible darkness, the glass 
reflecting back their images like a 
mirror. High noon, yet infinitudes 
blacker than midnight itself. Then 
came little lights — little spots of 
light moving in the void below like 
disembodied luminescent circles. 

Then came the sudden hooting 
and blaring of auto horns, the whis- 
tles of factory buzzers. The radio 
continued its tune, then suddenly 
stopped dead as though the wires 
had been severed — not a crackle, not 
a hiss. 

“What — ^what does it mean, Mr. 
Forsythe?” ventured Lawson nerv- 
ously, his face puckered in trou- 
bled creases. 



“I don’t know — yet.” Max stood 
grim and thoughtful, listening — he 
knew not what for. “Something is 
outraging all the natural laws of 
light emanation and refraction. 
Something that seems to be affect- 
ing even radio.” He paused. The 
radio was gushing again with power. 
Such power! He never knew there 
was so much. 

“Creatures of Earth — take heed!” 
commanded a voice, a full, round- 
bodied voice, it seemed. “In par- 
ticular may the beings known as 
Max Forsythe and Robert Walford 
listen to our words — or, should they 
not be listening to their radio, other 
beings must convey the information 
to them. This day Max Forsythe 
has hurled into the world of light- 
beings a battering-ram of fire and 
destruction. It must cease. Be 
warned! Thousands have been de- 
stroyed by his action. We have it 
in our power to give you light or 
dark at will. This time we are 
tolerant; we have stopped only day- 
light — further assaults upon us will 
mean stoppage of all light, indefi- 
nitely. Our walls, the walls of our 
world, were riven apart to-day. To 
replace these walls we have ab- 
sorbed light ; that is why your world 
is temporarily black. Do not tam- 
per with forces you do not — and 
could never — understand. Light, 

most of all. Again, be warned!” 

The voice abruptly ceased, and 
simultaneously daylight returned as 
though an omnipotent switch had 
somewhere been depressed. 

Max stood as though carved in 
stone for a couple of minutes after 
the voice had ceased, oblivious to 
the fact that the normal, radio music 
was not resumed. Then, at Ada’s 
touch on his arm, he awakened into 
life. 

“Max, what does it all mean?” she 

AST— 3 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



49 



asked wonderingly. “What can it 
mean?” 

“I — I believe I get it!” he an- 
swered, seizing her hands. “Yes; 
I’m sure of it I That radio-televisor 
— ” His eyes brightened. “Ada, 
I’ve stumbled on a terrific discov- 
ery! Beings of light! But it’s too 
big a problem to tackle alone — I’m 
not much good on physics and kin- 
dred subjects. It’s your brother’s 
job to help. Is he at home?” 

“Yes, I suppose so. But what 
do 

“I must have cooperation on this. 
Just a moment!” 

Max turned to the telephone, and 
a manifestly worried, frightened 
operator gave him his number after 
two wrong attempts. The voice of 
Robert Walford came to him from 
the other end of the wire : 

“Oh, it’s you. Max? I was just 
going to ring you up. About Ada 
— is she with you? Quite safe? 
The blackness, I mean.” 

“Yes — yes, she’s here. You heard 
that voice on the radio?” 

“Surely. I was just listening and 
having my lunch. Something big 
here. Max. I’ll be right over. Ten 
minutes will do it.” 

“Good!' As fast as you can.” 

Max hung up, to meet the puzzled 
eyes of the girl fixed upon him. He 
stepped forward and patted her 
hand reassuringly. “Sorry — guess 

you’re all muddled up, aren’t you? 
Frankly, I’m a bit that way myself. 
This business is involved. You see, 
somehow my projecting a carrier 
wave of ultra-shortness has pene- 
trated a hitherto unsuspected realm 
girt about the Earth — has, in fact, 
done a lot of damage in a little- 
known universe.” 

“Um — where the people talk good 
English, eh?” she asked suspi- 
ciously. “Max, I do believe that 
darkness business was just another 
AST— 4 



of your fool electrical stunts! You 
can make electricity talk to you, if 
you want. Tell me the truth!” 

“It isn’t so!” Max insisted. “I 
don’t pretend to understand how the 
English language was spoken, but, 
after all, we’ll probably find the ex- 
planation ultimately. We’re up 
against something big, Ada — big ! A 
world we never suspected. A world 
in light! Holy mackerel!” 

He relapsed into thought at the 
immensity of the idea and remained 
thus until the calm, unmoved per- 
sonage of Robert Walford, Ada’s 
brother, entered the apartment. 

Slim in build. Bob was five years 
the girl’s senior — keen, unruffled, 
essentially mathematical, with a dis- 
position as regular and even as a 
chronometer ; an analyst and chemist 
of high repute and possessing an en- 
viable name in the radio and electric 
world. 

“Well, Max, what about it?” he 
inquired calmly, hands in pockets. 
“All right, Ada?” He tossed her a 
brotherly glance. “Not scared?” 

“Of course not! Just — er — puz- 
zled.” 

Max rose and took hold of the 
analyst’s arm compellingly. “Bob, 
you know the principles of our 
radio-televisor — how it works — 

everything. You also heard the 
radio message directed at us. Now, 
how in the name of sanity does a 
new radio machine upset a plane of 
beings that seem to be made of light 
or something?” 

“My dear Max, it is not an intri- 
cate problem- to the trained mind. I 
call mine such; you are entirely 
creative. You’re a genius — I am 
merely an expert evolving, as it 
were, on fundamentals. Obviously, 
there exists in light, that is in the 
radiations of light, a world of 
beings. We never knew it before, 
because we cannot see or hear them 



50 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



with our eyes and ears, but that 
doesn’t say they’re not there. One 
cannot see with ejres above ultra- 
violet or below infra-red, but that 
doesn’t imply there aren’t any other 
radiations above or below these 
spectrum limitations. Indeed, beings 
that exist in a world of light radia- 
tion are, after all, quite feasible — 
why not?” 

“Go on, man, go on!” Max urged, 
and the girl and Lawson came 
closer. 

“Well, as I see it, you must have 
used the televisor machine to-day.” 

“Sure I did — gave Ada a demon- 
stration.” 

“Well, that being so, you dealt a 
double blow into this world of light- 
beings. For one thing you ab- 
sorbed terrific quantities of the 
radiations we know as daylight, and 
for another you hurled forth into 
the heavens a new type of carrier 
wave, capable of easily penetrating 
the Heaviside Layer. So, it ap- 
pears, while you robbed this un- 
known world of light, you also 
drove a battering-ram of power into 
it at the same time. Max, don’t you 
see that that carrier wave would be 
solid to these luckless creatures of 
the light plane, existing, as they 
seem to, at such a high radiation? 
Suppose we could see radio wavefe, 
feel them; just think how upset 
we’d be if somebody hurled one at 
us! We’d just disintegrate before 
it. You get it? 

“With our new force we’ve 
smashed down what to these light- 
beings is a solid wall— to us a trans- 
parent wall of light vibration. They 
had to gather light radiations to re- 
pair the trouble, presumably, and 
this caused our world to be plunged 
into a momentary blackness. Then, 
again, our carrier wave obviously 
penetrates these walls and anni- 
hilates the creatures. So, instead of 



making a machine to serve our race, 
we’ve found the destroyer of an- 
other race. Most remarkable, in- 
deed!” 

“But, Bob, the voice in English — 
speaking on the radio! That gets 
me !” 

“That I can’t explain yet — though, 
of course, it is possible to speak 
without even uttering a sound.” 

“Yes, thought-conversation into 
sound.” Ada nodded. “I’ve heard 
of it.” 

“On the contrary, dear girl, light 
can be made into sound. It is done 
in every talking-picture theater to- 
day by the photo-electric cell. But 
we will not pursue that topic. It is 
even possible that certain colors, 
properly converted, can be turned 
into audible sound.” 

“What!” Max gasped. “Say, you 
don’t mean it, man!” 

“Entirely correct,” the analyst in- 
sisted. “It can be done, but for the 
time being we have other things to 
engage our attention. We’ve got to 
decide how to use our machine with- 
out disturbing these light-beings. 
We don’t want to harm them, but 
all the same we must give our in- 
vention to mankind. Guess I can be 
better employed here for the time 
being instead of at my laboratory.” 

“You’ll stay? That’s great of you. 
Bob.” 

“Not at all, but first I require 
lunch. I didn’t finish mine. What 
have you got?” 

Max glanced at the overturned ta- 
ble. “Oysters, if you like ’em. I’m 
sure there are more. If not, plenty 
of other stuff in the kitchen.” 

“Lead me to the oysters; I adore 
them.” 

II. 

DESPITE its brevity, the disap- 
pearance of daylight proved to have 
far-reaching effects. Several ships 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



51 



lost their courses at sea, airplanes 
crashed, automobiles collided — 

countless little incidents occurred 
that brought home to Man the reali- 
zation of the absolute necessity of 
light in order to exist. Only the 
fact that artificial lights had not 
been affected had made the happen- 
ing less serious than it might have 
been. 

Thousands had heard the radio 
message, with the result that For- 
sythe and Walford found them- 
selves suddenly the butts of in- 
numerable interrogations. It was 
demanded by the public that they 
destroy their “newfangled” inven- 
tion — a demand to which Max might 
even have acceded, so fierce was the 
insistence, had not Walford stepped 
into the scene and issued a flat re- 
fusal. The invention would have 
its first public demonstration in the 
near future, and nothing should 
stand in the way, for by that time 
something would surely have been 
found to prevent the harmful effects 
on the beings of light. 

And with this the public, for the 
time being, had to be satisfied. 

In Max’s laboratory, work was un- 
ceasing — the three working at full 
pressure to devise a means of ren- 
dering the radio-televisor harmless. 
With the keen genius of Max, the 
concise reasoning of Walford, and 
occasional assistance from Ada, 
plans were built up — splendid, per- 
fect plans — but Unhappily it was 
found each time that the most vital 
factor could not be excluded. The 
set would not work without that 
ultra-short carrier wave. 

“If only we could detect these 
people!” Walford muttered, scratch- 
ing his head and looking over the 
apparatus. “Some way to communi- 
cate. Glean some idea of their 
standard of intellect. We might 
then compromise.” 



“Perhaps we’d better not use the 
apparatus after all,” Max said wor- 
riedly. “I don’t want to upset these 
light-beings — and yet ” 

“Forget it!” Walford snapped. 
“We’re going through with it. I’ll 
tell you what to do; give the ma- 
chine another trial, but cut down 
your light-absorption percentage 
and carrier-wave efficiency. We’ll 
see if darkness comes again and 
have to chance the trouble to Earth- 
lings. There is always sacrifice in 
pioneering. Go on — give the thing 
the juice.” 

Silently Max obeyed, and pres- 
ently that terrific stream of light 
was again in evidence, with the 
faintly visible beam of the carrier 
wave projecting from the transmit- 
ting lenses. Even though the power 
was cut down quite fifty per cent, 
the glare was blinding. 

“O. K.,” Walford muttered. “Shut 
it off.” He rubbed his eyes and then 
stood and waited for something to 
happen. 

A dead silence followed when the 
generators had ceased to hum — then 
suddenly the incredible happenings 
of the last experiment were repeated 
— but with something else besides, 
of which Max and Walford were 
then unaware. 

Darkness, rayless and complete, 
shut dovra. The moment it did so 
Walford switched on the normal 
radio and the electric light. Then he 
stood open-mouthed, even his calm 
shaken. For his sister, Ada, had 
completely disappeared. 

“Bob, she’s gone!” Max shouted 
simultaneously. “Quick! Where is 
she?” 

“I — er ” For once the analyst 

was at a loss for words. His gaze 
shot up and down the laboratory, to 
the black square that was the main 
window, and then back to his 
friend’s baffled face. He took an 



52 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



uaoertain step forward — then the 
dead radio behind him awoke to life. 

“Max Fors3rthe — Robert Walford, 
you were warned before not to at- 
tack our universe. You have ignored 
that warning. Either you destroy 
that machine, never to rebuild it, or 
else lose the solid creature called 
Ada Walford, who is now with us 
imprisoned. Do as you are ordered, 
and she will be returned unharmed 
—otherwise your world will be per- 
petually in darkness, and the life of 
the Earth-girl forfeit. You will have 
the full manifestation of our power 
in the world you are presently to 
view, for as a warning, until you 
see reason, we are destroying all 
color! You have twenty-four of 
your hours. We shall see if you 
can be sensible or not.” 

The communication ended and the 
blackness vanished simultaneously. 
Incontinently the two rushed to the 
window, to gaze astounded at what 
they beheld. The world was en- 
tirely in monochrome. Not a color 
anywhere! The formerly blue sky 
was gray — even the sunlight. The 
people in the streets, moving again 
now, the autos, the street cars, 
everything — gray. Like a three- 

dimensioned film. 

“Great heavens!” Max breathed 
hollowly, clutching the window 
ledge convulsively. “Bob, do you 
begin to understand what we’re up 
against?” 

“Surely!” The analyst’s calm tone 
was a fortress of strength in that 
moment. “We are up against crea- 
tures who understand light, color, 
and sound as far ahead of us as 
we’re ahead of Neanderthal man. A 
monochrome world! And — Ada!” 
He compressed his thin lips into a 
bitter line. 

“There’s nothing else for it but to 
destroy the damned machine!” Max 
blurted out, picking up a massive 



girder wrench from the floor. “We 
can’t lose Ada ” 

“Wait! Stop!” Walford insisted 
abruptly, and Max turned to find 
him on his knees at the spot where 
the girl had been formerly standing. 
Suddenly, as he placed his hand on 
the concrete floor, he withdrew it 
with a muttered curse. His eyes 
were shining with an unusual light 
as he looked up. 

“What?” Max asked, lowering the 
girder again. 

“This concrete, in a circle of about 
eight feet diameter is positively 
hot! See you keep clear of it. Like 
being under sunlight concentrated 
through a magnifying glass. Ca- 
lorific rays— or infra-red. I’ll bet 
my boots on it.” 

“So what?” Max inquired, puz- 
zled. 

The analyst straightened up. 
“Just this. Max. If there’s an infra- 
red or calorific beam being pro- 
jected into this laboratory from 
somewhere we’ll detect it by photog- 
raphy, find its comparative wave 
length, and then think up something 
capable of traveling in that radia- 
tion — and so probably reach the 
source of it. And that’ll be the do- 
main of the beings of light.” 

“But— but ” 

“Don’t but, man. Help me get the 
infra-red cameras to work.” 

WITHIN half an hour the plates 
had been developed in the special 
dark room, and somewhat to the 
amazement of Max, distinctly re- 
vealed a beam of about seven and a 
half feet diameter projecting down- 
ward into the laboratory from some- 
where above. 

“Excellent!” Walford remarked 
concisely. “Naturally, infra-red 
travels through glass and wood, so 
the roof is no barrier. I should say 
this ray is not quite infra-red, but 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



53 



possessing similar properties, hav- 
ing a wave length of approximately 
forty-five millionths of an inch. 
Naturally, the waves possessing the 
greatest calorific value are some lit- 
tle distance in the infra-red region. 
You appreciate. Max, that infra-red 
waves, and kindred ones, are not hot 
of themselves?” ' 

Max nodded. “Yes — it’s the ob- 
jects they touch that absorb the 
heat, isn’t it? Like you said about 
your hand under a magnifying glass 
concentrating sunlight. It is not 
the light that burns, but the fright- 
ful power of infra-red brought to a 
focus?” 

“Exactly so — ^witness the hot con- 
crete. That proves that Ada was 
removed by a machine of some sort 
— something that doesn’t get hot, 
otherwise she’d have been burned 
unmercifully, and the light-beings 
have assured us that she hasn’t been 
harmed — yet. Max, what we’ve got 
to do is put our brains together and 
within twenty-four hours devise 
something that can travel in that 
beam to the source. No; don’t ask 
me why they’ve left it on; I don’t 
know. Yes; we’ve got to think of 
something!” 

“But what?” Max asked help- 
lessly. “It’s so enormously diffi- 
cult!” 

Walford considered, pacing back 
and forth in deep thought. 

“Ships can be controlled and 
moved by radio vibrations, and 
that’s got to be our fundamental. 
We must find something capable of 
exerting a recoiling pressure on the 
vibrations of infra-red — we’ll call 
the beam infra-red for convenience. 
Get that?” 

“Just the same as ether is the car- 
rier-sea or vehicle of electricity?” 

“Exactly so! Our beam must be 
the carrier of the recoil principle we 



devise. Now let me think — let me 
think.” 

For a long time there was silence, 
then at last the analyst snapped his 
fingers decisively in the air, 

“Our machine must be made of 
ordinary metal — a light metal — for 
the basis, and painted on the ex- 
terior and interior with a solution 
of alum and calc-spar, both of which, 
particularly the former, are opaque 
to heat or calorific waves. Then, to 
move in this infra-red beam, we must 
have an absorber of dead-black ma- 
terial, which absorbs heat the fastest 
and the most efficiently. After that, 
we must radiate these absorbed heat 
waves onto a highly polished sur- 
face placed some distance behind 
our proposed vessel. 

“This, as I see it, if in proportion 
to the mass of the ship itself, should 
result in the vessel’s moving for- 
ward in the beam itself, by the re- 
coil of the absorbed infra-red vibra- 
tions upon the brilliant surface of 
the propulsor. Get it? Just as 
light waves gathered in a condenser 
can, if hurled at a brilliant surface, 
actually slightly move the conden- 
ser itself by recoil. I’ve proved that 
already in my own work, and infra- 
red waves being longer are a darn 
sight more powerful. Light has 
mass — so also has infra-red, to an 
even greater extent. Max, it’s a 
great idea!” 

“The idea’s all right, but we can’t 
do it all in twenty-four hours !” Max 
protested. 

“On the contrary, I think we can,” 
was the analyst’s calm reply. 
“While I’ve been explaining to you, 
I’ve been looking at that aluminium 
shell you’ve got over there — that un- 
finished idea of a space ship, com- 
plete with manholes. It’s the very 
thing we want. We may be a bit 
cramped, but that’s nothing. Come 
on, give me a hand to get it ready. 



54 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



We’ll want a roughly made control 
board to stop or start our radiations 
at will. Then air supply, and so 
forth. Now — to work.” 

SIX solid hours of work in a labo- 
ratory bereft of normal colors, to 
the eye at least, resulted in the com- 
pletion of the roughly constructed 
infra-red projectile. 

“Not exactly a beauty, but serv- 
iceable,” Walford commented. 
“We’re going to take our lives in 
our hands. Max, but for the sake of 
Ada we’ve got to. Certainly we’re 
not going to destroy our invention 
just because these creatures demand 
it. We ” 

He stopped and snatched up the 
telephone as it rang noisily. 

“No; we’re not beaten yet,” Max 
heard him answer. “The mono- 
chrome world? Well, you can find 
your way about all right, can’t you? 
What? No— got an experiment on. 
Very important. Tell everybody 
that everything will be all right. 
. . . Of course color will come 
back! Good-by.” He slammed the 
receiver back. “Institute of Sci- 
ence,” he tossed out. “Want to 
know the reason for the return of 
the darkness, and the gray world. 
Folks are getting their backs up at 
us. Have to chance that, though. 
Now, to test this masterpiece. Bet- 
ter pack some goggles, a couple of 
rifles, and provisions. Never know 
what we may need.” 

This took another fifteen minutes ; 
then, all arrangements having been 
made with the completely under- 
standing Lawson, the projectile was 
levered by overhead cranes into the 
hot area that marked the presence of 
the beam. The heat was blistering 
in the brief transit from the labora- 
tory to the projectile’s interior, 
then the coverings of alum and calc- 
spar solution brought complete com- 



fort. They found it necessary to lie 
down at full length. 

A tiny battery-driven light came 
into being. 

“Say, what about the laboratory 
roof?” Max asked, after he' had 
screwed up the air lock, and the 
ship was thus perfectly sealed. 

“Since the laboratory roof is 
mainly glass, I suppose we’ll go 
through it. Then — ^well. Heaven 
knows where. Somewhere in the 
region of the Heaviside Layer, I 
imagine." Switch on the propulsor. 
I’ll work the absorber.” 

Max moved his hand pp to the 
switch on the roughly made control 
board and pushed it home. Simulta- 
neously Walford moved the switch 
for uncovering the black absorber. 
Although the two could not see out- 
side, there being no windows, they 
distinctly felt the projectile jump; 
a momentary impact follo^d, then 
a hazardous sensation of upward 
flight. Acceleration presently began 
to tell upon them, weighing them 
down with its sickening pressure — 
and proving one indisputable fact. 
They must be going an amazing dis- 
tance away from Earth. 

Then very gradually the accelera- 
tion diminished to a constant veloc- 
ity, leaving the two as weightless, 
floating beings, hardly able to exert 
the force necessary to move their 
levers. 

“Cut out the propulsor,” Walford 
said at last, and the closing switch 
moved into its sockets. The ab- 
sorber also ceased to function. 

“Better take it easy,” Walford 
went on. “We don’t know where 
we may hit.” 

The onward movement, impelled 
by the initial momentum, continued, 
until suddenly they became aware 
that gravitation had been mysteri- 
ously resumed. They lay on the 
floor, sensing an attraction practi- 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



55 



cally similar to that of Earth itself. 
Then came a sudden jolting concus- 
sion, and the projectile became still. 

The two looked at each other 
doubtfully, then Walford began to 
unscrew the air lock carefully. In 
another moment the air was hissing 
out of the chamber, until, com- 
pletely exhausted, a thinner, differ- 
ent air came surging in. Cautiously 
he peered outside, his breath coming 
in short, panting gasps, then easing 
into steadier action as his lungs be- 
came accustomed to the change. 

“Remarkable!” was his comment 
at last, and with that he wormed his 
way out onto a comparatively solid, 
white, and misty ground. “Look! 
An endless plain of white ! No hori- 
zon — or if there is one it’s hidden 
in mist. Now, I wonder where the 
deuce we are?” 

Max scrambled out beside him, re- 
marking that the air was curiously 
warm, and that there was a vague 
effect of sunlight, even though the 
luminary itself was invisible. 
Breathable atmosphere — gravitation 
— but nowhere a sign of a habitation. 

Walford shook his head. “I can’t 
begin to imagine where we are,” he 
muttered. “The sun seems to be 
shining somewhere behind all this 
mist. The heat beam, too, must have 

come from here, and yet ” He 

stopped dead and seized his friend’s 
arm tightly. 

Quite suddenly there had begun 
to appear in the emptiness a vision 
of machinery — great engines and in- 
tricate mechanisms that baffled un- 
derstanding. Gradually, with the 
passing seconds, the vision took on 
solidity, changing from phantomic 
transparence into three-dimensional 
solidity, until at last the two Earth- 
lings realized they were within a 
vast, super-scientific laboratory, or 
else a power house. Their minds, 
struggling across blank infinities. 



tried to piece things together — and 
failed. They felt like children be- 
fore a mental Titan. 

“What machinery!” Max breathed 
tensely. “What sort of science is it 
that can play about with stuff like 
this and make it appear and dissolve 
at will?” 

“When I said we were up against 
beings who understood light, color, 
and sound, I did not bargain for 
this,” Walford replied, compressing 
his lips. “It’s — superhuman!” 

“You were right in assuming that 
the calorific, or heat, beam came 
from here,” a voice appeared to re- 
mark, at which the two spun round 
on their heels to behold an im- 
mensely lofty, quasi-attenuated 
creature standing behind them — 
quite twenty feet tall, with legs that 
seemed to merge into vaporous noth- 
ingness. 

A ghost of an arm seemed some- 
how to be controlling a massive, but 
peculiar, lever. The Earth beings 
could make out eyes, large, deep- 
purple orbs, peaceful in their ex- 
pression, yet seeming odd on ac- 
count of their having no lids. The 
face was purely a haze; of mouth, 
nose, or ears there was no sign, and 
yet the Earthlings understood him 
perfectly, just as though he had 
spoken in a clear and understand- 
able voice. 

Walford was pondering upon the 
peculiar means of expression, when 
suddenly the being began to ema- 
nate an amazing aurora of color- 
bands, concentric circles of count- 
less colors that radiated outward 
and then faded. Yet, as the two 
Earth-men stood there, the colors 
passing through them, as it ap- 
peared, they again heard words. 

“It is because you have revealed 
yourselves as creatures of unusual 
knowledge that you have been per- 
mitted to come here,” the “color 



56 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



bands” said. “Your idea of the 
infra-red machine, according to our 
master, was quite original. Please 
realize that, although you on Earth 
may be masters of chemistry and 
kindred subjects, you have nothing 
of our knowledge of radiation, light 
waves, and color. You see, actually 
our world is invisible to such eyes 
as yours — it exists in a series of 
wave lengths some distance above 
ultra-violet, but we have machinery 
for altering our spectrum position, 
machinery which lengths the wave 
lengths of our emanations, thereby 
finally bringing us down to human 
visibility. This has been done by 
the orders of the master, so that you 
might see us.” 

“Thanks — that’s good of the mas- 
ter,” Walford remarked, and it was 
obvious his words were heard by the 
earless being; perhaps by absorption 
of sound radiation, he decided. 

“Before I take you further,” the 
being continued, emitting a further 
series of glorious colors, “please 
realize that we have done much to 
make this plane of ours suitable for 
your type of life. We have manu- 
factured an atmosphere, which ordi- 
narily we never need, we have also 
supplied our light-vibration floor 
with magnetic impulse to create for 
you a gravitation. But you are sur- 
prised at all this? Little wonder ! I 
am trying to help you by explana- 
tions, for I doubt if the master will 
feel disposed to say much; he is an- 
gered by your interference. I may 
even tell you that the floor of our 
world, which you see as a hazy, arti- 
ficially gravitated curtain, is actu- 
ally what you know as the Heaviside 
Layer.” 

III. 

THE extraordinary being paused, 
a hazy figure amid the enigmatic en- 
gines and controls of the power 



house, then once more the color 
bands pulsated, and the apparent 
words came. 

“This universe of ours is situated 
some one hundred and forty thou- 
sand miles from the surface of your 
Earth, and is the top side of your 
Heaviside Layer, the bottom side 
being roughly twelve or fourteen 
miles from your earthly surface and 
marking, as you believe, the ap- 
proximate limit of your atmosphere. 
Therefore, the floor of our world is 
something like one hundred an/i 
thirty-nine thousand nine hundred 
and eighty-six miles in thickness. 
Being one hundred and forty thou- 
sand miles away we miss the orbit of 
the Moon by a full thousand miles. 
Our universe is entirely that of 
light vibration. We ourselves are 
children of light vibration, light of 
the third order, as we call it, for 
there are other light planes in the 
cosmos. Normally, we are composed 
of a light vibration so high that 
Earthly eyes cannot see us, and 
therefore pronounce space to be 
black. You attribute many things 
to your Heaviside Layer; you call 
it a form of energy, or a gas, highly 
ionized by cosmic rays, and blame 
it entirely for your troubles in radio 
transmission. Am I right?” 

“Quite!” Walford nodded, while 
Max looked on silently. 

“Radio waves, which to us in our 
normal spectrum state appear solid, 
are immensely destructive. At first 
radio did not trouble us a great deal, 
long waves harmed us but little. 
But then came the experimenters 
with their short-waved systems, 
which actually penetrated the floor 
of our world and wrought enormous 
damage. We found we could not, as 
hitherto, turn these waves back to 
earth with our repulsive floor. Even 
so, we were tolerant and allowed 
things to continue thus for a space. 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



57 



but it was obvious our newly arrived 
master was angry. 

“His fury burst in all its force 
when your new ultra-short-wave ma- 
chine got to work recently and did 
terrific damage. This carrier wave 
not only split our floor, but killed 
hundreds of our fellows who hap- 
pened to be in the way of the beam. 
Our walls, too, that girt us in from 
the void, were in some amazing way 
absorbed downward, the radiations 
of light surged away fropi us, ob- 
viously because of some light-ab- 
sorbing mechanism on your machine. 
Light is not, as you would have it, 
infinite. It has a fixed source, and 
you nearly overstepped it — so the 
master was forced to blot your 
world out for a space.” 

“Granting you absorbed light from 
Earth, why didn’t you use the Sun, 
the king of all luminaries?” Wal- 
ford demanded. 

“Because to do that would have 
meant drawing in certain heat rays 
as well, which we do not desire. 
The Earth is purely a cold, reflec- 
tive agent. The master, with his 
instruments, detected by frequency 
the exact spot where the destructive 
beam came from. For a space he 
studied you in his machine, by the 
radiations of light you uncon- 
sciously emitted into the void — as 
do all creatures and things. He 
trapped the radiations of sound 
from your voices, heard and knew 
everything. Then he duplicated the 
same force you had hurled at us, 
and transmitted color waves into 
your earthly radio bands. These, by 
a process you will later discover, 
formed into words and gave you a 
warning. You ignored it; as a con- 
sequence the master ordered the 
capture of the Earth-woman Ada, 
and we have her here. The penalty 
for your last offense was the stop- 
page of all Earthly color.” 



“Yes, but how?” Max demanded 
fiercely, taking a step forward. “In 
the name of all sanity how do you 
creatures do these things? Captur- 
ing people by heat, and suchlike?” 

“I am not at liberty to answer 
those questions,” the being re- 
sponded. “I would warn you that 
the master is unlike us. He is clev- 
erer; nothing is beyond his powers 
of conception, at least in matter of 
light and color. We of ourselves 
are a peaceful race, wishing nobody 
harm — ^but our master is cruel, ruth- 
less. It was I who allowed the 
calorific beam to continue upon the 
Earth after the capture of the 
Earth-woman, and it was I also who 
safely controlled your remarkable 
machine so that it arrived here un- 
harmed. I wish you no ill; I only 
hope you may compromise. But 
that is for the master, the Light 
Brain, to decide.” 

“Light Brain!” Max gasped in- 
credulously. “You mean — a brain of 
light?” 

“Certainly; everything in this 
plane is of light. I must take you 
to the Light Brain — controller of 
our destiny, lord of the cosmos. 
Prepare, my friends.” 

THE BEING turned to the con- 
trols behind him and slightly moved 
the gigantic lever upon which his 
nebulous hand reposed. In response, 
accompanied by a deeply pulsating 
roar, the mighty power room began 
to disappear, and in its place merged 
another chamber, luminous gray, 
with entirely circular walls. In the 
center of the great place, suspended 
in mid-air by no visible means of 
support, reposed a perfect circle of 
softly pulsating light. 

“Great snakes!” Max muttered. 
“This place gives me the creeps. 
Bob.” 

“I confess it has unusual charac- 



58 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



teristics.” Walford admitted, look- 
ing about him. “I am mainly puz- 
zled, however, by the way in. which 
places appear as they do without our 
moving in the slightest.” 

“A simple problem to masters of 
the spectrum, such as we,” replied 
the color bands. “Remember that we 
are entirely in a world of only light 
impressions; nothing is really solid 
unless we bring it low enough in the 
scale to be so. Even the vibratory 
floor on which we stand is transpar- 
ent in the ordinary way, through 
which you’d fall if I were to higher 
our spectrum value. This machin- 
ery alters the light radiations of dif- 
ferent places, making them visible 
to the eye but cutting out one im- 
pression and bringing in another. 
Solidly it could not be done; by 
light it can. Now it is for the mas- 
ter, the Light Brain, to converse 
with you.” 

Unsteadily, bemused by all they 
were experiencing, the two Earth- 
lings advanced toward the center of 
the hazy compartment, blinking 
slightly in the brilliant light ema- 
nating from the evidently intellec- 
tual globe. Then suddenly the 
whiteness of the glare died down 
and there radiated forth the now 
familiar concentric rings of color. 

“You are intelligent creatures of 
your particular sphere, my friends; 
you have made an achievement, so 
you imagine, with your new radio- 
televisor. But it is my will that you 
do not return to Earth to continue 
your destructive work. There is no 
known way to stop the disastrous 
effects of your ultra-short carrier 
wave, and when you install your 
machines all over your Earth there 
will be wholesale destruction in 
our world. So it is, that to save our- 
selves, we must be rid of you. As 
for the machine itself, it will be 
destroyed by a heat beam of such 



intensity that it will melt to liquid.” 

“This is outrageous!” Max ex- 
ploded hotly. “You’ve absolutely 
no right ” 

“Be silent!” the color bands com- 
manded. “Do not try to match cun- 
ning with a brain that even speaks 
in color! Thoughts and colors are 
alike in fundamental basis — for each 
thought there is a component color. 
Colors affect the brains of Earth- 
lings. The red color is analogous to 
a murderous tendency of thought — 
‘seeing red,’ I believe you call it. 
The colors we radiate affect your 
brain cells, but so finely are these 
colors graded by us, your Earthly 
eyes cannot detect all of them. You 
see all the range from red to violet, 
of course, but you do not see the 
five hundred and sixty colors that 
exist besides. Unconsciously you 
absorb these colors via your optic 
nerves, and they stimulate your 
brain cells into impressions, words, 
and these form into the only words 
that have sense to you — English. 
Were you blind, I could not con- 
verse with you, there would be no 
medium. Then you dare to match 
yourself against a brain of that 
power! Fools!” 

“I understood you were a peaceful 
people ” Max began. 

“The race is peaceful, but we are 
at the dictates of the master,” ra- 
diated the attendant being. “I, for 
myself, am deeply sorry ” 

“You dare to say that!” the as- 
tounding brain radiated. “Dare take 
sides with the accursed Earthlings! 
Know you that I am becoming suspi- 
cious of your rebellious ways and 
traitorous statements! This must 
cease. As for these two beings, take 
them away. Imprison them, until I 
have deliberated as to the best 
course to take to dispose of them.” 

“But just a moment ” said 

Walford, then he stopped as he be- 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



59 



held the chamber and the Light 
Brain disappearing from view as the 
attendant being operated his lever 
once more. 

This time a smaller place merged 
into vision, inclosed with four misty 
walls. Nowhere was there a sign of 
a door. 

“Until the master decides, it is 
my unpleasant duty to have to do 
this,” the being radiated. “I have 
no sjmipathy with his decisions ; like 
all my fellows I hate him. I won- 
der sometimes if he really is one of 
us. His formation is somewhat dif- 
ferent.” 

“Suppose — suppose we hit on a 
scheme to escape, would you help 
us?” Walford asked keenly. 

“If it is a scheme that will ulti- 
mately destroy our dreaded ruler, 
yes,” came the response. “We are 
crushed beneath his iron despotism. 
From nowhere has he come and so 
subjected us; being peaceful we 
know nothing of warfare. I have 
no grudge against Earthlings. If 
the master were removed we would 
surely arrive at some amicable plan 
with regard to your invention. One 
thing I will do; I will watch over 
your Earthly projectile and see no 
harm befalls it.” 

“Thanks for that,” returned Wal- 
ford gratefully; “but there’s some- 
thing else even more important to 
us. The very reason for our com- 
ing, in fact. Where is the Earth- 
girl?” 

“Imprisoned, even as you are, 
awaiting the master’s pleasure.” 

“Could you bring her to us? If 
we think out any schemes, we must 
all be together.” 

It seemed that the being consid- 
ered; its purple eyes stared into va- 
cancy. Then again the colors came 
iprth. 

“Yes; I will bring her to you. I 
can do so without endangering my 



own position. The master will 
surely not discover it. So long as I 
have followed his orders in impris- 
oning you, it matters not whether 
you be together, or separate. I will 
send the girl to you.” 

“Great work!” Max exulted. “If 
we hit on a plan, how shall we let 
you know?” 

“My name is Ramifod. Call my 
name; the radiation of sound you 
emit will reach me, and I will come. 
Now I must go— the girl will pres- 
ently appear to you.” 

And with that the being and his 
machinery and lever vanished from 
view, leaving only the four-walled, 
hazy chamber, from which there was 
apparently little chance of escape. 

THEN presently something 
merged out of the misty air, took 
shape. Instantly the two men 
jumped forward, seizing between 
them the now solid form of Ada. 
She embraced them eagerly in turn. 

“Ada! At last I’ve found you!” 
Max breathed, holding her to him. 
“Thank God for that!” 

“Are you hurt?” Walford de- 
manded, at which she shook her 
head. 

“No; not hurt, but I’m horribly 
frightened. At least, I have been 
until now. You see, when the dark- 
ness came in the laboratory, I 
seemed to find myself suddenly 
shooting upward. Oh, it was a ter- 
rible sensation! Then I seemed to 
lose all sense of everything — like 
fainting. That hazy creature, whom 
you’ve probably seen, told me by 
colors that I was covered by a mag- 
netic infra-red shell. It had no bot- 
tom in it, and, it appears, dropped 
over me, something like a thimble 
over a garden pea. This shell was 
guided in the beam itself so as to 
fall exactly over me, my position 
having been determined by some 



60 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



weird system of light radiation. So, 
the shell preceding the actual heat 
beam of a fraction of a second, saved 
me from burning. 

“By the same process of magnet- 
ism the shell was withdrawn, my 
body stopping inside by automatic 
clamps which held my arms and 
waist. Then, upon reaching a cer- 
tain point in the air, a peculiar sort 
of gas was released which placed me 
in a state of suspended animation — 
that was when I lost consciousness. 
So, my heart and breathing being 
stopped, and my circulation at zero, 
I was as impossible to kill as a 
corpse. Then I was revived and 
told to await the master’s pleasure. 
That’s all I know of the way I came 
here.” 

“H’m, your powers of memory are 
improving, Ada,” Walford com- 
mented laconically. “The only 
thing that puzzles me is how the 
devil that shell got through the roof 
of the laboratory and left no break 
or gap to prove it.” 

“Oh, I forgot that bit!” the girl 
apologized. “The shell wasn’t a 
solid thing, it was composed of some 
sort of light radiation, but imper- 
vious to heat. Something that goes 
through solids like a red-hot poker 
through snow.” 

“Ah, probably of the same consis- 
tency as the beam itself, only pos- 
sessing no heat value,” Walford 
murmured. “Most interesting — 
most!” 

“And now what?^’ Max asked. 
“We’re absolutely trapped by this 
glorified electric-light bulb that 
calls itself a brain.” 

“Beyond doubt the position pre- 
sents certain difficulties^” Walford 
commented and begfan to stroll 
about, stroking his chin pensively. 

While he did so. Max explained 
to the girl how they had reached the 
realm of light and their subsequent 



adventures. Presently he turned to 
Walford for corroboration of some 
detail — ^to start immediately with 
violent shock. The analyst was no- 
where to be seen. 

“Hey! Bob!” Max shouted des- 
perately. “Where are you?” 

“Bob! Yo-hoo!” called Ada, cup- 
ping her mouth and adding typical 
feminine sounds. 

There came a sudden streamer of 
light from the farther wall, a 
strange writhing of mists, then the 
calm figure of the analyst appeared 
again. He strolled forward with a 
faint grin on his usually somber, 
cadaverous face. 

“I hear you calling me,” he quoted. 
“That bit puzzled you, didn’t it?” 
He stopped as a gust of laughter 
shook him; then much to the aston- 
ishment of his friend and sister he 
doubled up in a paroxysm of un- 
controllable mirth. “A — a prison!” 
he wheezed between gasps. “Of all 
the funny, foolish ideas ! Why — 
why, the place is as easy to get out 
of as a fog belt !” 

“What! What do you mean?” 
Max demanded. 

“Just this,” Walford replied, be- 
coming serious again. “While you 
were talking to Ada I had a look 
around and found I could walk right 
through the wall! Don’t you get it? 
These creatures imagine they have 
to deal with us as they deal with 
themselves. Being made of light vi- 
bration they are naturally impris- 
oned if surrounded by light vibra- 
tions which are stronger than they 
are — just as we can’t walk through a 
brick waU. But, to us, the walls of 
this prison aren’t as strong as tissue 
paper! Just mist!” He shook 
again with laughter. 

“By Jove!” Max’s eyes were 
brightly gleaming. “Of course! 
Ramifod said everything was light 
vibration ” 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



“Exactly, and we can just walk 
out of here whenever we want!” 
Walford turned to the wondering 
girl. “Say, Ada, why didn’t you 
walk out of your prison?” he de- 
manded. 

“Well, to tell the truth, I — er — 
never thought of it,” she answered 
a trifle sheepishly. “And neither 
did you at first,” she added. 

“Um — well, I guess I can’t blame 
you for that. But now we’re free 
we’re going back to Earth to collect 
some apparatus, and then we’ll re- 
turn and give this Light Brain a 
few things to go on with. Since he 
won’t listen to any plans for our 
mutual benefit we’ll pay him back in 
his own coin. Come on; let’s get 
going.” 

“We’ll want Ramifod for that,” 
Max answered. “Hey, Ramifod! 
Ramifod!” 

There followed a pause — a long 
interval that suggested the call had 
not been heard — then very gradu- 
ally there began to appear the hazy 
figure of the lofty light being amid 
his controls. 

Quickly Walford made the posi- 
tion clear. 

The color bands radiated in re- 
sponse; “Since you can so easily 
escape prison walls, there is noth- 
ing I shall try and devise to detain 
you. I’m glad you have found the 
means to escape; it will not involve 
me when I am called upon to ex- 
plain to the master. Since you are 
determined to aid us against our 
despotic ruler, you have my al- 
legiance. I will restore the calorific 
beam to its original position and 
safely guide your ship back to 
Earth. Then, I will await your re- 
turning — if that is your intention?” 

“Surely! We’re out to do a thing 
or two to this master of yours.” 

“It is well. I will guide you to 
your ship. Just allow yourselves to 



6t\ 

be moved by radiation impulses, and j 
all will be well.” 

With that the being vanished, and 
the trio stepped through the prison 
wall into the familiar gray, horizon- 
less landscape. Immediately, as it 
seemed, invisible hands pushed them 
in the small of their backs, and they 
were forced along the plain at a 
steady walk. Vaguely they com- 
prehended that the pressure must be 
occasioned by some form of light 
radiation akin to radio propulsory 
waves. 

Presently they reached their 
infra-red machine, standing exactly 
where they had left it. They were 
contemplating it prior to entry 
when Ramifod appeared again, still 
with the vague suggestion of lever 
and control room about him. | 

“Exactly at this spot is the 
calorific beam machine which is 
being projected to your Earthly ' 
laboratory,” the colors explained. “I 
have attuned the beam so as to en- 
velop your ship and give you direct 
transit to Earth without damage by 
a forcible arrival. Now hurry, be- 
fore the master learns of my duplic- j 
ity.” ’ 

“Good enough !” Walford answered 
promptly. “Come on.” 

They entered the cramping con- ^ 
fines of the machine and closed the 
air lock. In a moment the controls 
were adjusted, and there came the 
sensation of downward falling. 
Once more acceleration claimed 
them for its own, and, as before, 
they were for a space weightless 
creatures ; then Earth’s gravity 
began to reassert itself, and they 
became aware of slackening speed, 
thanks to Ramifod’s assistance and 
machines. ^ 

SLOWER the motion became, and 
slower, then with a slight jar the 
projectile came to rest. In another;] 



62 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



moment the three were in the labo- 
ratory. It was night. Footsteps 
came, hurried and tripping, then, 
simultaneously with the electric 
light flooding on, the faithful Law- 
son entered, rubbing his hands in 
satisfaction. 

“Ah, so you got Miss Ada back, 
sir?” he exclaimed happily. “I con- 
gratulate you, sir.” 

“You’d better reserve it until we 
finish the job off properly,” Max re- 
plied grimly. “We’ve a lot to do 
yet, Lawson — unfortunately. Any- 
thing happened during our ab- 
sence?” 

“No, sir; the world is still black 
and white. You’ll notice in here — 
no colors.” 

Max nodded slowly and glanced 
at the analyst. “Well, Bob, any sug- 
gestions?” 

“I only know that we’ve got to 
work pretty fast. I want a few in- 
struments capable of detecting light 
radiations and colors. And I’ve 
been thinking that there may be 
something in what Ramifod says 
about the infernal master.” 

“Meaning what?” 

“He’s not of Ramifod’s third-or- 
der race. He’s undoubtedly some- 
thing different — both in form and 
mental make-up. Remarkable that 
creatures so diverse could exist in 
light vibrations. Anyhow, I’d take 
particular pleasure in informing 
that master precisely where he gets 
off.” 

“But, Bob, suppose something 
happens and the heat beam is cut 
off while we’re here?” Ada asked 
worriedly. “It might, you know — if 
the Brain finds out.” 

The analyst,- nodded with the 
calmness that betokened the sudden 
release of ideas in his brilliant mind. 
“Admittedly it might disappear,” he 
agreed, “but with what I have in 
mind it won’t matter if it does. Now 



we know the location of the light 
world is one hundred and forty 
thousand miles away ; it doesn’t mat- 
ter how we get there ; we don’t need 
to use the heat beam. Briefly, it all 
boils down to a matter of space 
travel. 

“You see, the highest altitude ever 
attained by an aeronaut — take Pro- 
fessor Pickard and his stratosphere 
experiments for example — didn’t 
reveal the light world because it 
then existed in a spectrum beyond 
Earthly eyes’ visibility. We know 
where the light world is, and by con- 
structing a space ship, on the prin- 
ciple of recoil radiation — just as we 
incorporated in the infra-red ma- 
chine — ^we can fly up “there in the 
ordinary way until we reach the land 
beyond the Heaviside Layer. That 
is, granting they don’t move it back 
to its normal position in the spec- 
trum. If they do that, we’re sunk, 
for we shan’t be able to see them 
and we’ll have nothing solid to land 
on. I’m trusting to luck our space 
ship will have force enough to pene- 
trate their vibratory floor. So if 
they choose to cut off their calorific 
beam it’s all ” 

Walford ceased to speak. Quite 
suddenly the laboratory became 
filled with a rushing, tumbling surge 
of electrical power. Out of the air, 
it seemed, came a hard and familiar 
voice, accompanied by a staggering 
pyrotechnical display. The labora- 
tory literally swam with reeling and 
beating color bands. 

“So, you poor fools, you imagine 
you can overcome the master, do 
you? You would dare to tamper 
with a universe you do not under- 
stand? For that, you and all Earth- 
lings shall suffer — nor will you be 
able to find our plane again because 
I have decided in face of your plans 
to move back to our original point 
high up in the spectrum scale. And 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



63 



as for you creatures — destruction of 
all light! Nor will light ever be 
resumed ! That is the answer of the 
Light Brain! You were warned! 
Every Earthling will hear this com- 
munication, for I have not resorted 
to childish radio, but to actual di- 
rect communication by color 
through space. Fools — childish, 

ur.utterable fools !” 

The colors and voice ceased upon 
that; abruptly it seemed that an in- 
visible hand had switched off the 
electric light. Those in the labo- 
ratory were in an intense impenetra- 
ble blackness. Not a spot of light; 
not the vaguest glimmer. Through 
the aching hush came the strident 
breathing of the analyst. 

“By gosh!” he exploded at last. 
“Does he think he can get away with 
this?” 

“He not only thinks he can — he’s 
done it !” Max answered testily. 
“This is a dam sight worse than be- 
fore. He’s stopped all light of every 
description. How, we don’t know 
yet. Just a moment; I’ll experi- 
ment.” 

There was a pause in the abyss, 
followed by the obvious scraping of 
a match and the spluttering of its 
flame. But no flame was visible. 
Astounded, Max felt along the 
match carefully, then yelped pain- 
fully as the invisible flame scorched 
his fingers. 

“Hell !” he muttered direfully. 
“This is too much!” 

“Wait!” Walford counseled, from 
the darkness. “That flame burned 
you — that shows that though visible 
light is somehow blocked, heat ra- 
diations are still existent. Very 
long waves aren’t affected, ob- 
viously. H’m, we can provide light 
for ourselves, vague and dim, by 
chemical means. Between chemical 
and actual light there is enough dif- 
ference to prevent the former being 



affected by this black-out. We had 
oysters for lunch, didn’t we?” 
“Oysters? Yes— of course. But 

what in the name of sanity ” 

“Say, Lawson, try and find your 
way to the kitchen, and bring me 
whatever oysters are left — the 
shells, anyhow.” 

“Yes, sir; I’ll do my best.” There 
followed a fumbling and bumping in 
the darkness, followed by the creak- 
ing of the door. 

“What’s the idea?” Max de- 
manded. “Tell us, can’t you?” 
“Sure! You know, beyond doubt, 
that ordinary daylight — solar light 
— and phosphorescent light possess 
two entirely different radiations?” 
“Yes.” 

“And also that fluorescence is a 
transient chemical light, and phos- 
phorescence a persistent chemical 
light?” 

“Cetrainly. But what ” 

“If my reasoning is correct, the 
power t^t stopped normal daylight, 
or any artificial light, won’t block 
chemical light as well. By a sheer 
stroke of luck you happened to or- 
der oysters for lunch. Don’t you 
know the laboratory formula that 
oyster shells can be made into sul- 
phide of calcium, by heating the 
shells to redness, mixed with a little 
brimstone, in a closed crucible? 
Small quantities of other materials, 
such as bismuth, manganese or cop- 
per, aid the production of a phos- 
phorescence, and can also change 
the color of the light emitted. So 
you see, if we can make a quantity 
of sulphide of calcium — and you 
have the requirements in this labo- 
ratory here — we can have a feeble 
light of a phosphorescent nature. 
Then we can think further.” 

“Yes, I recollect the formula, but 
I understood that the oysters had to 
be stimulated by light waves first, 




and the emission of light persists 
after the light has been withdrawn.” 
“Of course,” the analyst re- 
sponded. “But they have been 
stimulated by light until a few min- 
utes ago. That’s beside the point; 
there’ll be enough in them for our 
job. Ah, I hear Lawson, I think.” 
Presently the manservant placed a 
salver in Walford’s hands, and cir- 
cumspect feeling revealed the 03^8- 
ter shells. 



“Now — the crucible,” Walford 
said, and Max led the way. 

THEN began a series of difficul- 
ties, until the furnace Bre was 
lighted, when, to their surprise, 
they behfeld distinctly the red glow 
of the coals, but not the actual 
flames. 

“Great!” Walford breathed. “The 
calorific and heat radiations are not 
affected, nor the low values of red 

AST— 4 




THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



65 




The void was a mass of red beams and crumbling 
whiteness as the Beets joined in titanic battle. 



itself — just the higher spectrum 
values, that’s all. It shows our phos- 
phorescence will be O. K. Leave 
the furnace door open; we can see 
our way about dimly.” 

Work progressed slowly, and 
eventually the two scientists had 
completed their solution of sulphide 
of calcium. This they placed in a 
clear glass container, and set it on 
a bench where it would provide a 
fairly universal glow. It cast a pale, 
greeny-blue radiation, turning their 
faces green and their lips black. 

AST-5 



“H’m, we all look a bit bilious, but 
that can’t be helped,” Walford com- 
mented. “Now to get on with our 
original plans. I’ve got a formula 
to work out.” 

“But, Bob, what about the people, 
the public?” Ada asked helplessly, 
seizing her brother’s arm tightly. 
“What on earth is going to happen 
in this darkness? A world without 
sight — ^that’s what it amounts to. 
Not everybody will be able to do 
what we’ve done, you know.” 

“I’m fully aware of that, Ada,” 



66 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



Walford answered calmly. “But be- 
cause I can’t do anything until I’ve 
worked out what’s causing the trou- 
ble, I’m not bothering myself. Once 
I’ve found a way to circumvent this 
light stoppage I can carry on with 
the work of hunting up something 
to destroy this devilish brain. See 
if the phone is working, will you? 
I’ll have a message sent over radio.” 

The girl found her way to the 
telephone, but all her efforts were 
useless. The line was quite dead. 
Regretfully she put the receiver 
back. 

“Exchange not working. Every- 
body will be panic-stricken. Bob. 
We’ve got to do something to ex- 
plain matters. Think of the casual- 
ties!” She crossed to the window 
and stared out on a black infinity. 
The infinite blackness of platinum 
dust. 

“Everybody heard that warning 
from the Brain,” Max remarked. 
“We can’t do an3rthing further. 
Don’t worry yourself, Ada — it won’t 
help.” 

“I’ll say not,” Walford growled, . 
seated at the bench close to the 
phosphorescence container, scrib- 
bling busily. “Leave me alone, will 
you? I’ve got to think, as never be- 
fore. Try and get some sleep — 
you’ll do no good wandering around. 
Or you might try the radio. Never 
know your luck.” 

“Why not switch on our special 
radio and give these blighters a ter- 
rific blast that will blow them to 
hades?” Max demanded. 

“No.” Walford set his jaw. “I’d 
thought of that, but it would mean 
the destruction of all the race, and 
that isn’t fair. No, I’ll think it out 
first, if I can.” 

Max shrugged and turned to the 
radio. Switching on, the power was 
distinctly noticeable in the speaker; 
but no program was being issued. 



Then presently even the power 
ceased to emanate. 

“H’m, power station faded out,” 
he muttered. 

Walford turned slightly from his 
figures. “Nothing we can do can 
alter things,” he said, in his cool, 
detached voice. “Now let me alone, 
please !” 

IV. 

AFTER a brief meal of tinned 
provisions in the light of the cal- 
cium lamp, Walford, a cigarette 
drooping from the corner of his 
mouth, returned to his figures, while 
Ada, Max, and Lawson looked on 
hopefully, hardly daring to breathe. 
Finally, however, as the time passed, 
the three spectators fell asleep one 
after the other, huddled in uncom- 
fortable chairs. Walford, absorbed 
in his work, toiled on steadily 
through the night hours, Hogging 
his mind unmercifully — figuring, 
computing, checking, with all the 
knowledge and reason with which 
he was gifted. Then, toward' four 
in the morning, he jumped to his 
feet eagerly. With rapid move- 
ments he woke the others. 

“I’ve found it!” he shouted, his 
calmness vanishing for a space. 
“Listen to this — and my figures 
absolutely check up on it. I’ve 
worked on the known basis that the 
dominant wave length of sunlight — 
daylight — is fifty millionths of a 
centimeter. This fact has made it 
possible for me to check up on all 
the remaining sources of light — 
electric, oil, and so forth — and de- 
termine the comparative wave 
lengths of each. Now, here is what 
the Light Brain is doing. From 
somewhere up there he is radiating 
a force which is capable of retard- 
ing the speed of light vibration. 
That is to say, everything we see, 
light itself, only appears to us be- 



JHE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



67 



cause of the terrific speed with 
which the radiations strike the eye 
— the previous image having 
scarcely gone before the next one 
arrives, producing continuous vis- 
ion. 

“But — and here’s what the game 
is! — this radiation is causing the 
speed of light waves to be slowed 
up; hence the waves only reach us 
slowly and indefinitely, resulting, 
in the case of eyes trained as oiurs 
are, in apparent blackness. You get 
it? The momentary split second 
needed for each wave to reach us is 
so spaced out, as it were, that we 
see nothing tangible in the time 
that ’’ 

“But I thought these creatures ab- 
sorbed light to repair their walls 
of light,” Max remarked. 

“I am quite prepared to believe 
they did so before,” the analyst 
replied, “but this time it is a differ- 
ent matter. The Light Brain is ob- 
viously malignant. This light stop- 
page is not for necessity, but for re- 
venge upon us. And remember, it 
will stay indefinitely. Not that that 
worries me, for having found the 
cause I’m quite sure I’ve correctly 
worked out the solution.” 

“Quick! What is it?” Max gazed 
intently at the figures on his friend’s 
papers. 

“Simply to issue forth from a ma- 
chine, a generator, an electromag- 
netic energy slightly above that of 
the one being radiated at us. This 
will cause their light-retarding en- 
ergy to be hetrod3med and render it 
useless. And, since I have the exact 
figure of the periodicity of the 
energy they’re using, it won’t be 
difficult. We shall want a generator 
like the one on that radio transmit- 
ter of ours; indeed, I think it can 
be converted for the purpose. You 
see, these creatures obviously can’t 
use a retarding force low enough in 



the scale to slow down the radia- 
tions of infra-red and heat — only 
the higher ones — sunlight, electric 
light, ultra-violet, and so on. You 
get the idea?” 

“Sure! It’s a masterpiece, if 
you’re right.” 

The analyst nodded tiredly. “I’m 
sure I’m correct. Now I’m going to 
get some sleep; I’m about all in. 
Later we’ll get busy converting our 
generator.” 

THE GENERATOR took two 
days to convert, working to Wal- 
ford’s plan. Fortunately, the elec- 
tricity for driving it was provided 
by the laboratory’s own resources; 
tappings of the normal mains had 
shown that the power houses were 
not at work. Indeed, it was doubt- 
ful if anything at all was going on 
in the black world. Few sounds 
reached the workers as they pro- 
gressed ; in the backs of their minds 
they wondered how much havoc had 
taken place in the interval of time. 
Sixty hours without light was un- 
paralleled in the history of the 
world. 

“I should think that ought to do,” 
Walford remarked at length, carry- 
ing forward the newly mixed phos- 
phorescence in its tube and looking 
the generator over carefully. “We’ll 
give her the juice, and if my cal- 
culations are right, eight minutes 
ought to see restored daylight.” He 
looked at his watch closely. “Nor- 
mally, it is ten a. m., Friday morn- 
ing. Now, let’s watch.” 

“Why eight minutes. Bob?” Ada 
ventured. 

“That’s the time taken by light 
to travel from Sun to Earth,” was 
the calm answer. “I’m calculating 
that light has been stopped clear to 
old Sol himself. O. K., Max, let 
her go !” 

The switch moved into position 



68 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



and the generator began to hiun, 
gradually increasing in pitch as the 
speed accelerated, until at last the 
Boor began to quake at the terrific 
vibration of invisible hetrodyning 
energy being hurled through the 
laboratory avails into the open air 
outside. 

Walford stood with his eyes 
glued to his watch in the phos- 
phorescent glow. 

One minute — three — five He 

bit his lip fensely. The others stood 
close by him in the faint, ghostly 
light. Seven — seven and a half, 
almost 

Then, suddenly, brilliant, blind- 
ing daylight! As though Earth had 
been inclosed in steel shutters that 
had abruptly been ripped aside. 
Light, sunlight, glorious and life- 
giving, stabbed into the laboratory. 
Immediately the four rushed to the 
window, to stand amazed at the 
sight they beheld. 

New York, as far as they could 
see, was a mass of thick hoarfrost. 
A fairy city! Down below, auto- 
mobiles were standing motionless, 
street cars loomed up like oblong 
islands in the midst of the jam. 
Pedestrians were strewn about the 
sidewalks, stiffened, frozen corpses. 
Nowhere was there a sign of any- 
thing moving. 

Overhead the sky was clear blue 
and cloudless. 

“Bob, you did it,” Max muttered. 
“You’ve even brought back color.” 

The analyst nodded slowly. “Yes, 

I know. I can only hope I did it 
soon enough. Of course there 
would be terrific cold — condensa- 
tion, you know. Good job we kept 
our heaters going in here. Every- 
where there must have been rain 
precipitations, blizzards, and so 
forth.” He aroused himself with a 
sudden effort. “Well, we’ve re- 
stored man’s heritage; we can’t do 



more at the moment. To be safe, 
we must leave this generator going. 
By now it must have encircled the 
globe with its radiations — daylight 
and artificial light will be in order 
everywhere — perhaps weaker at the 
antipodes than here, but that can’t 
be helped. We’ve done all we can. 
Still, I don’t like the dead look 
ever3^hing has.” 

“Time vdll show who’s left. Bob,” 
Max remarked quietly. “What’s our 
next move?” 

“Obviously, we’ll continue our 
original plan to laimch an attack on 
the Light Brain. After this das- 
tardly affair, it’s the only thing 
left.” 

“I’m entirely with you there. 
You’ll have to make those instru- 
ments you spoke of?” 

“Yes; I think I can make them 
here. Of course, we’re up against 
difficulties now the light plane has 
been moved upward into invisi- 
bility, but there ought to be a way 
around the trouble. It will be nec- 
essary, I think, to commandeer the 
aid of the public — or at least the 
army, to assist us.” 

Max’s eyes were doubtful. “Do 
you think they’ll do it? You know 
what they think of us — that our ma- 
chine is the cause of the trouble.” 

Walford nodded. “I know, but 
don’t forget the Light Brain has un- 
wittingly helped us to get the aid 
of the public. He radiated his warn- 
ing for everybody to hear; hence 
ever3rbody will know what we’re up 
against. This isn’t the time for 
petty vindictiveness, but for whole- 
hearted cooperation.” 

IN THE DAYS that followed it 
became obvious, from radio and the 
restored newspapers, that the Earth 
had suffered during the sixty-hour 
absence of light. Thousands of 
people had been killed as a direct 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



69 



result of the sudden stoppage of vis- 
ion; ships had run aground; trains 
had been wrecked — everywhere 

there was a tale of woe. In many 
places terrific cloud-bursts had 
swept away entire towns, in others 
blizzards of unprecedented fury had 
buried cities under eight feet of 
frozen snow. Even so, the damage 
was not so terrible as the four in 
the laboratory had at first expected. 

Public opinion, however, was not 
so much against them now but 
against the demoniacal Light Brain. 
Not that anybody knew where the 
voice had spoken from, ' or whose 
voice it was. This being so, Wal- 
ford made his plans clear at a pub- 
lic broadcast meeting. Max was the 
first to take his stand before the 
microphone. 

“My friends, while admitting an 
experiment with a new radio-tele- 
visor was the start of these tragic 
happenings, my friend and I deny 
all responsibility for the recent 
sixty-hour light stoppage!” he de- 
clared, both to the microphone and 
the vast audience congregated in 
the hall before him. “All this trou- 
ble has been caused by a brain of 
light.” He explained in detail to 
the slightly incredulous gathering. 
“But, thanks to the intellect of my 
friend Mr. Robert Walford, and the 
generator of our radio-televisor it- 
self, the trouble of light blockage 
has been stopped. We cannot, how- 
ever, go on forever existing in this 
state; we must uproot the cause. 
The Light Brain is thoroughly de- 
termined to have his own way — ^but 
so are we ! Mr. Walford has worked 
out a scheme, and to put it into 
operation must have the cooperation 
of the American Flying Corps.” 

“We are prepared to listen to any 
reasonable suggestion,” said the 
chairman, obviously convinced by 
Max’s earnestness — at which Max 



motioned his friend to the micro- 
phone. 

The analyst calmly surveyed his 
notes for a moment, then began : 
“These light-beings, which Mr. 
Forsythe has detailed to you, exist 
some one hundred and forty thou- 
sand miles away from Earth. They 
have, as you’ve been told, now 
moved themselves back up the spec- 
trum scale so as to be invisible to 
us when we attempt to attack them. 
Manifestly, then, the Light Brain 
expects retaliation for his vindic- 
tiveness, He imagines by this 
method that he has beaten us to it, 
so to speak. But, however, we know 
that the most destructive radiation 
to them is an ultra-short radio-car- 
rier wave, such as it embodied in 
our new radio-televisor. The one 
advantage about this ultra-short 
carrier wave is that, I find, it is 
potent not only in the invisible 
spectrum region below infra-red, 
but also in the invisible spectrum 
above ultra-violet. Therefore, since 
our enemies have chosen to move 
themselves to a point where we can’t 
see them, we must send forth short- 
wave carriers from generators simi- 
lar to those on our radio-televisor.” 

“May I ask how you know their 
precise point in the invisible spec- 
trum?” inquired the chairman. 

“Certainly! The waves above 
ultra-violet are too small to affect 
our vision, but it is possible that 
some of them can, and do, produce 
chemical effects — notably photo- 
chemical and photographic. I do 
not think these beings will exist so 
far up the scale as not even to effect 
specially prepared photographic 
plates— or rather films. This, there- 
fore, is my idea. We must have a 
fleet of space ships — ^which I’ll deal 
with later — equipped with specially 
prepared cine-cameras, cameras ca- 
pable of taking photographs of the 



70 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



invisible spectrum at one end, and 
then performing an almost instan- 
taneous developing process, so that 
the finished film spins out at the 
other end of the camera and is pro- 
jected onto a screen. You under- 
stand? A combined camera, de- 
veloping tank, and projector all in 
one. There is possibly an expert on 
such subjects somewhere in this 
audience who can say if it can be 
done?” 

“It can be done, but it will be ex- 
tremely costly,” remarked a man at 
the front of the audience. “I repre- 
sent Universal Talkies. It’ll need 
special work to make cameras and 
developers capable of taking ultra- 
violet impressions.” 

“I am quite aware of that,” Wal- 
ford nodded calmly. “Thanks for 
your assistance ; I will see you after 
the meeting. To resiune : Our space 
ships will also carry ultra-short 
wave-carrier generators. Then, if 
we can see these creatures by pro- 
jecting the camera images onto our 
screens— our spectrum screens as 
we’ll call them — it will be fairly 
easy to do the rest. My scheme is 
to fire over our enemies’ heads, so to 
speak — namely, to project several 
carrier waves into their world so 
that they’ll be forced to climb down 
the spectrum scale in order to pre- 
serve their safety, as we gradually 
lengthen the wave length of our 
carrier wave. So at last the3r’ll come 
down into visibility. Then, once 
we’ve got them down on a solid 
plane again, we can attack. It will 
be our task to give them the alter- 
native of either moving themselves 
away from Earth so as to be quite 
harmless, or else being destroyed. 
Now you see why I must have the 
flying force to assist me. I want 
trained men to control a fleet of 
space ships.” 

“You talk of space ships as though 



they’re rowing boats,” commented 
the chairman. “I thought space 
travel had been proved impossible.” 

“No— improbable,” Walford cor- 
rected coolly. “The space-ship idea 
is based upon an accidental discov- 
ery I made concerning infra-red re- 
coil. Space ships will be made in 
the same manner, employing instead 
electric recoil upon ether itself. So, 
if I can be assured of public back- 
ing, and of the assistance of the 
treasury, there is no reason why this 
cosmic blot cannot be wiped out.” 

“The matter can only be put to 
the public vote,” the chairman an- 
swered. “If they accede you will 
have carte-blancbe facilities.” 

THE PUBLIC, it proved, was 
genuinely swayed by Walford’s 
speech, and the usual regulations 
and restrictions were swept aside to 
permit of his having full authority 
to do as he desired. Certainly such 
willingness would probably never 
have occurred but for the remem- 
brance of that voice that had spoken 
in color. The world realized it was 
up against an ex-terrestrial menace 
of considerable proportions, and 
with brother instinct combined 
against the aggressor. It was dis- 
tinctly recognized that Robert Wal- 
ford was the presiding genius, a 
man whose brilliant knowledge had 
so far saved civilization itself from 
wholesale destruction. 

So it was that in various engi- 
neer works labor began upon taper- 
ing> cylindrical machines — space 
ships — ^while in other factories the 
repulsive machinery was slowly 
molded and wired, exactly to Wal- 
ford’s formula. In photographic 
laboratories countless miles of film 
for photographing the invisible 
spectnun were emulsionized, and in 
camera workshops were fashioned 
the remarkable machines for simul- 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



71 



taneous photographing, developing 
and projecting, together with special 
condenser lights and lenses capable 
of giving high-powered illumina- 
tion. 

Only once in this march of prog- 
ress tn a resolute end did Walford 
stop to wonder if the Light Brain 
knew all his plans. He knew of the 
creature’s power to hear his words. 
Perhaps^ though^ having gone up 
the scale into invisibility. Earthly 
communications and voices had also 
ceased. He decided it was hardly 
probaUc for communication to exist 
in two different planes of vibration. 
In any case he would have to take 
the risk. 

While external work was pro- 
ceeding under Walford’s personal 
direction. Max, Ada, and Lawson 
pushed on with the task of making 
delicate color compasses which Wal- 
ford had insisted he needed. Un- 
doubtedly his color compass was the 
crowning achievement of his amaz- 
ing genius. Within a completely 
air-exhausted case, the nearest pos- 
sible to an absolute vacuum, reposed 
a delicately pivoted needle, con- 
structed on the principle of a radio- 
meter*. The needle, however, was 
magnetized to be rendered sensitive 
to the most delicate degrees of color, 
from a wave length of eighty-one 
millionths of a centimeter, extrem- 
est red, to thirty-six millionths of a 
centimeter, extremest violet. Upon 
his graded scale reposed the inter- 
mediate colors and their wave 
lengths, so with the aid of the in- 
strument he was practically certain 
of detecting anything of a color 
frequency in the strange world of 
the light-beings. 

At length the day came for the 
departure from Earth — a departure 



that was taken after a considerable 
amount of ceremony, in which Wal- 
ford and Max were hailed as the sa- 
viors of the age, and their heritage 
traced back, by some miracle or 
other, to forefathers who had lived 
to conquer — and so on. Radio, 
press, and word of mouth wished 
them “God speed !” a cry which fol- 
lowed the fleet of fcx'ty ships as, 
under radio control by Max and 
Walford’s own special system, it 
swept unerringly into the upper air, 
rose higher and higher, and at last 
vanished in the morning sunlight. 

Back in the laboratory, closely 
guarded by soldiers, was the still 
throbbing generator upon the per- 
fect functioning of which reposed, 
for the time being. Earth’s one slen- 
der hope of continuing light. Elec- 
tricians were also present, ready to 
repair the vaguest hint of a defect. 

“These repulsive radiations of 
yours seem to work all right,’’ Max 
commented, standing by the control 
board with Ada. “So does your 
artificial gravity screen. Guess it’s 
as good as solid earth. H’m, at this 
rate, we’ll soon reach our goal.” 

Walford nodded. “True enough. 
We’ve left Earth’s atmosphere al- 
ready. See — space itself!” 

The three looked out upon infinite 
immensity. The imperfect envelope 
of atmosphere now removed, they 
beheld the stars and planets in all 
their natural glory — seemingly 
rounded bodies of blinding flame, 
incredibly bright little spots poised 
immovable, as it appeared, against 
an unending curtain of blackest 
black. The three involuntarily 
drew in their breaths sharply; there 
was something unforgettably mag- 
nificent about the sight. 

Walford turned back to the dis- 



*NOTBr An instrument in which vanes move around by light vibration, within 
a vacnam tube. 



72 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



tance gauge, another of his own re- 
markable inventions. By calculating 
the rapidity of the retarding force 
to the forward movement of the ves- 
sel per second, it had been easy to 
make an alignment between the two 
and have the distance indicator 
automatically register the number 
of miles covered. The figure now 
stood at thirty thousand miles, and 
was rapidly mounting. Outside, in 
perfect order, were the remaining 
thirty-nine space ships, all obeying 
his orders through the Walford- 
Fors3Tthe radio-communicator. Wal- 
ford silently thanked the gods for 
their special radio invention, for no 
other method would have made void 
communication possible. 

So the journey continued, until at 
last the one hundred and forty 
thousand miles’ journey was com- 
plete. Far away in the void, a mon- 
strous globe of green, hung Earth, 
the attendant^^Moon shining silver 
away to the right. 

Then came the stopping order, 
and the space ships came to a com- 
parative standstill by a powerful 
burst of recoiling pressure in their 
forward path, which effectually 
braked them. 

“Man photographic machines,” 
Walford ordered. “Form into a 
circle and take films from every 
angle. Report as quickly as pos- 
sible.” 

Immediately the order was put 
into execution, and for an hour 
nothing was apparent in the control 
room. The screen at the far end of 
the chamber was snow-white, with 
only a tracery of odd black bars. 
Then suddenly the three strained 
forward tensely; the camera projec- 
tor whirred on persistently. 

A hazy picture of the horizonless 
land of the light-beings was coming 
into view upon the screen. Nothing 
more than a gray smudge upon a 



white background, but it was quite 
sufficient. At the same moment re- 
ports came through from the other 
ships of similar findings. 

“Great, they’re just above ultra- 
violet!” Walford breathed, then 
turned swiftly to the microphone. 
“O. K., boys, let loose the carrier 
waves — point nought four. No 
lower as yet or you’ll blow them to 
hades, and we don’t want that. 
Guess we’ll give ’em a chance — it’s 
the Light Brain we want. Go 
to it!” 

He released his own carrier-wave 
generator after adjustment, and the 
invisible power surged through the 
walls of the space ship and into the 
void outside. At the same time 
thirty-nine other destructive radia- 
tions shot forth and continued with- 
out pause. 

As nothing apparently happened, 
Walford’s keen eyes glittered more 
brightly, and he tightened his lips. 
“Increase wave length!” he snapped 
out to the microphone. “Lower 
down to point nought three, then 
nought two, until we drive the 
devils into visibility. Get busy!” 

Again the order was obeyed, then 
as the force crept slowly down the 
scale of the spectrum until it had 
reached the place where it must be- 
come almost visible itself, there 
merged slowly into view a grayness 
upon the blackness of space — gradu- 
ally it took form. 

“We’re doing it!” Max yelled. 
“They’re becoming visible!” 

“I know — I know,” Walford as- 
sented curtly. “O. K., boys, slacken 
up. Stop !” 

He cut off the power, and at the 
same time the land of the light- 
beings became tangibly solid, a 
familiar sight to the three in the 
commanding ship — a world of in- 
credible wonder to the remaining 
thirty-nine crews. At the order the 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



73 



ships came gently to rest on the 
hazy floor. 

“Keep four carrier waves going,” 
Walford instructed. “At point 
nought two. That’ll keep these 
creatures from going up again and 
dropping us into space. Now let’s 
get going.” 

V. 

LED by Walford, Max, and Ada, 
a small army of fifty Earthlings 
left their respective space ships, 
leaving the others behind on guard, 
and advanced along the strange floor 
of the light-land. Presently, as on 
former occasions, a control room 
began to merge about them, coming 
at length into fairly clear relief. 
The figure of the lofty Ramifod 
turned from his switches. 

“You’ve come back!” radiated the 
color bands, agitated this time, re- 
vealing, it appeared, a worried state 
of mind. “Do you realize that you 
have incurred the undying wrath of 
the master? You have forced us 
down to this position.” 

“And that’s not all we’re going to 
do,” Walford returned curtly. “We 
bear you no ill, Ramifod, as you 
know, but we’re determined to wipe 
out this devil who blocked all light 
on Earth. He’s a fiend ” 

“While you’ve been away, I have 
discovered something,” Ramifod 
interrupted. “This master, as I told 
you before, is something different 
from us — different formation and 
different mind. He can move in air 
instead of along the ground, as we 
do. That falls into no category we 
can understand. Now I think back, 
I realize he came from apparently 
nowhere. And I have discovered 
that ” 

Ramifod ceased suddenly to radi- 
ate his colors, and the large purple 
eyes were looking stonily ahead. 
Walford, with the others, turned 



sharply, then started. Not ten 
yards away, suspended in the air, 
was the glowing mass of the Light 
Brain itself. 

A dead silence for a space — then 
the colors. 

“So, Ramifod, you dare turn trai- 
tor? You dare to try and inform 
these interfering and dangerous 
Earth-creatures of my origin and 
purposes?” 

The colors ceased to radiate, then 
from the master there suddenly 
darted a deep-red radiation, hurtled 
directly at the staring Ramifod. 
The unfortunate creature seemed to 
melt into a mist and vanished into a 
faint pulsating of color, tantamount 
to an Earthling’s death scream. 

Walford compressed his lips. In 
his hand was a small edition of his 
color compass. In the red beam it 
had pointed directly to 92.0 — a vi- 
bration considerably longer in wave 
length than even extreme red. 
Heat! His mind revolved around 
the idea silently, then he looked up 
sharply as the Brain began to ad- 
vance through the air. 

“As for you creatures,” the pecul- 
iar apparition radiated, “you have 
dared to trespass again on forbidden 
ground. You, with your infernal 
machines, have forced us down into 
the range of the visible, have forced 
us below our normal position, which 
is just above ultra-violet.” 

“Yes, just that!” Walford re- 
torted grimly. “We’re out to oblit- 
erate you, so you may as well realize 
it. You tried to block light on 
Earth — and failed! We beat you 
to it! We know now, too, that you 
are not of the same species as the 
unhappy Ramifod ; you belong to 
somewhere else.” 

“Truly,” the colors conceded. 
“Since you know that much, you 
may as well know the remainder. I 
am the ambassador of the Fifth 



74 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



Light people — a race existing far 
above even the light radiations of 
these — er — Heaviside Layer people, 
as you call them. These creatures 
are very clever, but unusually pas- 
sive. They possess inventions of 
great value relating to light con- 
trol which we of the Fifth Light do 
not ; what simpler, then, that I come 
into their world and subject them 
with my superior mentality? I 
have done so — I am the undisputed 
master. All the time I am studying 
^ these machines, discovering what to 
do with them. These creatures dare 
not defy me. 

“In this world of theirs, however, 
being so near Earth, radio waves are 
irksome — in our world they do not 
reach, for it is situated millions of 
miles from here. While I’ve been 
here I have vowed vengeance on all 
Earthlings for their radio interfer- 
ences; your short-wave system was 
the limit. I resolved to have no 
more of it. You know the rest. I 
am determined to obliterate Earth- 
lings because of their useless, 
worrying ways. Is it not the law of 
the cosmos that the lesser should al- 
ways give vray to the greater?” 

“Yes; but it depends who’s the 
greater!” Max retorted. “You’re so 
damnably self-assured, you can’t 
think of anybody but you and your 
putrid race existing at all! That 
scheme of yours for blocking light 
was a filthy, contemptible idea.” 

“Remarks which are of no con- 
sequence!” the Light Brain re- 
turned. “If you do not wish to un- 
leash upon yourselves all the pow- 
ers of which a light-race is capable, 
get back to your ships, return to 
Earth, and attempt no interference.” 

“That’s likely!” Max snorted. 

“We absolutely refuse!” Walford 
retorted. “And leave you to carry 
on your deviltry here? What sort 



of creatures do you think we are?” 
He strode forward menacingly. 

“Very well, I shall bring the re- 
sources of my race to assist me in 
the difficulty,” the master returned. 
‘Though millions of Earthly miles 
distant, my plane of existence can 
be communicated with without diffi- 
culty, when one understands light 
as I do. A light year? But a sec- 
ond! A light century? But a min- 
ute. Since you are determined to 
declare war, I declare it also upon 
the entire human race, and we crea- 
tures will win !” And with that the 
Brain abruptly vanished, leaving 
the uncertain party gazing into 
space. 

“Say, what’s he driving at?” Max 
asked dubiously. “He looked ” 

“No time for conjecture!” Wal- 
ford snapped. “Here, keep close to 
me. I’m going to see if I can do 
anything with that lever Ramifod 
used to love so much.” 

He turned aside to the controls 
and felt at the lever. To his sur- 
prise, it was quite solid to his touch, 
whereas eversrthing else was no 
stronger than mist. Obviously this 
one controlling instrument was 
available for creatures of any vibra- 
tion. 

“Stand by!” he shouted. "Good- 
ness knows what will happen, but 
we’ll risk it!” 

He moved the lever a notch, and 
in response the power room began 
to vanish — ^the image of the power 
room at least — ^and in its place came 
another one, fairly similar, save that 
the engines were different in con- 
struction, and obviously more solid. 
A further pull on the control lever 
brought the place into quite dis- 
tinct, three-dimensional relief. 

“Good work — good work!” Wal- 
ford breathed. “We’ve got the spec- 
trum scale down to a place where 
we can actually get at stuff without 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



75 



going through it. What’s all this 
stuff?” He looked keenly at the 
nearest machine, with its maze of 
lenses and wires — ^then after a long 
study of its intricacies he looked up 
with a bright face. 

“We’re fools for luck!” he ejacu- 
lated. “This machine is the one 
which stopped color on Earth — 
plain as can be. Among these other 
machines will undoubtedly be the 
one that’s supposed to be making 
Earth lightless, only we’ve hetro- 
dyned it. See here !” He pointed to 
the lensed machine. “So darned in- 
tricate I hardly realized it at first. 
I don’t need to tell you that every 
color has a wave length, just the 
same as light itself. This machine 
is on the same system as the one 
which stopped light — ^namely, it 
shortens, by the use of a retarding 
force, the wave lengths of any color, 
making them too slow to be visible. 
Result — monochrome. Look around 
— we might find the one that’s stop- 
ping light. If we can, we’ll ruin 
it ” 

Walford stopped, his jaw sagging 
in sudden amazement ; then he 
shouted hoarsely and pointed. 

“Look! The control lever!” 

The astonished party beheld now, 
for the first time, a color of pale 
blue caressing the control lever for 
altering vibration and spectrum 
position. It was actually being 
moved by some nameless force. 

Instantly Walford flung himself 
at it, but the instant his hand 
touched the color beam he recoiled 
with a cry of pain. It stung like a 
million nettles; manifestly elec- 
tricity in some form or other. 

Gradually, irresistibly, the engine 
room began to melt from view. 

“Bob, can’t you do something?” 
Ada demanded hoarsely. 

“Quick! The whole place is fad- 
ing away!” Max bawled. 



“The master — he’s raising us up 
the scale so that we’ll drop through 
finally into the void, when the floor 
vibration is too slight to support 
us !” Walford panted. “The infernal 
devil ” 

“But surely our radio-carrier 
waves from the ships ought to stop 
that!” Max protested. 

“They should do, but something 
must have happened ” 

The place became vaguer and 
vaguer; through the practically 
transparent walls the space ships 
themselves outside became vaguely 
visible. The floor had actually 
reached a tenuous, hardly support- 
able state, when the condition sud- 
denly ceased. The pale-blue force 
beam extinguished itself. The 
Light Brain became slowly visible 
in the air. 

“This is but one example of what 
I can do if necessary,” he radiated 
ruthlessly. “In another moment I 
will continue my activities, until all 
of you, ships included, drop through 
into space to complete destruction. 
My only reason for stopping was to 
ascertain at what periodicity the 
floor of this world becomes trans- 
parent to you. And, while I am 
about it, I had better remark that I 
am quite aware from my machines, 
that you have succeeded in stopping 
my light-destroying machine being 
effective on Earth. Let me tell you 
that when I am rid of you I shall 
not only resume light destruction, 
but also will block sound as well. A 
race blind and deaf, freezing in ice- 
bound air. An amusing reflection 
indeed!” 

Whilst the master had been ra- 
diating, Ada had edged her way be- 
hind the others, and, taking her 
courage in both hands, seized the 
controlling lever. She gave it a 
vicious downward pull, throwing all 
her weight into the task. It shot 



76 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



down to its limit. Incontinently as- 
tounding things happened. 

The vagueness changed to so- 
lidity, and even more than that, hav- 
ing the frowning, heavy darkness of 
an overdeveloped photographic 
print. Harsh shadows leaped into 
being. The machines became more- 
than-solid engines of destruction. 
But most surprising of all was that 
the machinery, after a moment, 
glowed deep red, and issued forth a 
terrific barrier of surging heat. 

“Holy mackerel !” Walford shouted 
hoarsely, perspiration suddenly 
rolling down his face in the scorch- 
ing air. “Don’t you get it? Speed- 
ing of the electrons! Radiant en- 
ergy! These machines aren’t built 
for low spectrum values, they emit 
heat when brought down so far. 
And heat is mustard to these light- 
beings; my color compass proved 
that ’’ 

He broke off, open-mouthed, as 
suddenly the master, who had been 
silent, dropped to the floor and 
rolled about in a startling fashion, 
issuing forth tumbling bands of in- 
coherent color. 

“The heat!” yelled Max, mopping 
his brow. “It’s killing it — and no 
wonder. I can hardly stick it my- 
self. Great work, Ada!” He 
clutched the panting girl to him, 
and the party watched with bated 
breath. 

The red-hot machines soon im- 
prisoned the hapless Light Brain in 
the midst of those death-dealing 
radiations and calorific beams— ob- 
viously fatal to a creature of light. 
There came a few more color bands, 
then the haze of light from the crea- 
ture slowly died down and at last 
expired into emptiness. 

“Gone!” Walford breathed thank- 
fully, and seizing the control lever 
he pushed it up again until the room 



became normal and the engines 
cooled again. 

Even so they were irreparably 
ruined. The color machine was a 
mass of twisted ruined metal work — 
and so also, wherever in the place it 
was situated, must be the light-stop- 
ping engines. 

“Exit the menace to Earth,” Max 
commented. “We’ve done all we 
came for.” 

“No, not yet,” the analyst an- 
swered grimly. “Don’t forget the 
other members of the Light Brain’s 
race. Beyond doubt he’ll have com- 
municated with them, and they’ll 
be coming along as large as life ere 
long. For the time being we’d bet- 
ter stand by, and watch what hap- 
pens.” 

Again the control lever was 
moved until the engine-room walls 
were sufficiently tenuous to permit 
of passing through them, then the 
party slowly returned to their fleet 
of ships, pondering over the sudden 
strange peace and lack of activity 
since the accidental destruction of 
the Light Brain and his machines. 

AT THE ENTRANCE of one of 
four space ships issuing forth car- 
rier waves, the party was stopped 
by a grim-eyed officer. 

“Something queer has happened, 
sir,” he announced. “We left our 
radio beams on, just as you ordered, 
but something stopped them work- 
ing. 

“Stopped them? Why? How?” 
Walford knitted his brows. 

“I don’t know the cause, sir. And 
— they’re hot! Mechanics can’t 
touch them, they’re that hot.” 

“H’m — most interesting.” 

Walford entered the space ship, 
accompanied by Max and Ada. 
Quietly he looked over the radio 
generator, and upon touching it was 
rewarded with singed fingers. 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



77 



Calmly he withdrew from his pocket 
his color compass, and with a pair 
of long pliers laid it on the hot 
metal. Instantly the magnetized 
needle swung round until it stopped 
directly opposite thirty-six mil- 
lionths of a centimeter. 

“Ultra-violet !” Max whistled. 
“What does that prove, Bob?” 

“Simply this.” The analsrst laid 
the compass aside to cool. “Ultra- 
violet has been known at times to 
stop mechanism running, by expand- 
ing the metal and causing seizing. 
I can recall a case where a generator 
in a Michigan power house was once 
stopped by accidental radiations of 
ultra-violet from a contiguous ma- 
chine. You can take it for granted 
that the light-beings are responsible 
for this — whether the Heaviside 
Layer people, or the Light Brain’s 
race, I don’t know yet. It’s obvious 
now how he pushed up the scale. 
He stopped our machines first, then 
got busy again in safety.” He 
turned to the officer. “That accounts 
for the burning you felt,” he re- 
marked. “Pure ultra-violet ra- 
diations are fatal to human skin and 
eyesight. Keep clear of those ma- 
chines until you get further orders.” 

“Yes, sir. And may I ask what 
you’re going to do now? It’s all so 
—queer!” 

“Queer is a very inappropriate 
word, officer. I think ” 

Walford paused and looked out 
of the ship’s doorway. Approach- 
ing, he noticed now for the first 
time, was a veritable army of tower- 
ing light-beings, their queer, lidless 
purple eyes apparently gazing 
straight before them. At last they 
came quite close, surroimding the 
space-ship fleet. Color began to 
radiate from the foremost one. 

“We seek your aid,” it said. “The 
people of the Fifth Light are pre- 
paring for war upon us — and you. 



You killed the Light Brain, and wo 
rebelled against the Light Brain 
just before you killed it. This being 
so, the furies of the cosmos will de- 
scend upon us. We are 'compara- 
tively helpless, having no knowl- 
edge of warfare, and turn to you for 
assistance.” 

“You shall have it,” Walford re- 
turned promptly. -“Your late col- 
league Ramifod helped us. In re- 
turn we’ll help you. How long will 
it be before those Fifth Light beings 
get here?” 

“Maybe twelve of Earthly 

hours — they have that much journey 
to make.” 

“Well, they’ve already fixed our 
machines so we can’t use them!” 
Max snapped, and briefly explained. 
His surprise was evinced by all at 
the light-being’s response. 

“That was done by the Light 
Brain himself. Ultra-violet ma- 
chines, you call them. We can soon 
stop them working, and that will 
mean your machines will be in order 
again. The master did it so that he 
could rise upward into invisibility 
without encountering your danger- 
ous carrier waves. When the Fifth 
Light warriors come, they will rain 
death and destruction down upon 
us.” 

“What will happen?” Walford de- 
manded keenly. “Detail it. We 
must know everything so that we 
can prepare our defensive.” 

“Their two principal weapons are 
rays of color, which have behind 
them all the force of color and can 
disintegrate us to atoms, and also 
beams of pure heat — deep-red color, 
such as the master himself used to 
use. We have nothing with which 
to protect ourselves against them.” 

“What do they come in? Space 
ships?” Walford inquired. 

“Yes; made of a material peculiar 
to their own world. Transparent 



78 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



and misty to your eyes, solid to 
them and to us.” 

Walford’s eyes were gleaming. 
“O. K., that makes it easier. By 
the way, how many are there of you 
altogether?” 

“Some twenty thousand crea- 
tures.” 

“You have homes — or something 
like buildings?” 

“Yes, but they’re invisible to your 
eyes.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” the analyst 
replied. “If you want to be saved 
follow out my orders implicitly. 
Go to your homes, and stop in them 
until I tell you to come out. Not 
one of you must emerge — if he does, 
it is at his own peril. Don’t be sur- 
prised at anything that may hap- 
pen. I take it you can go upward 
in the spectrum scale almost with- 
out limit?” 

“Yes,” the being acceded. “At 
least, far far above this state. This 
is nearly our lowest ultimate. Our 
highest is far from this.” 

“Right !” Walford nodded. “Leave 
everything to me. Now, switch off 
those ultra-violet radiations that are 
hampering our machines, then go to 
your homes and stop in them until 
you hear from me. What’ll I do 
when I want you? Call you?” 

“Shout my name — Hanilof. It 
will be enough,” the being answered. 
“Now we will go, and trust in your 
powers to save us.” 

The army turned and moved 
slowly away, until at last it vanished 
in the uncertain haze. 

Ada took hold of her brother’s 
arm. “Can you save them?” she 
asked anxiously. 

“Yes, and without much difficulty, 
too. I’ve got what I think is a con- 
crete plan, at last. We’re going to 
leave this plane, but before we go 
we are going to put it into a scale 
in the invisible spectrum at the far- 



thest, most remote violet. That is, 
about ten degrees above ultra-vio- 
let. That will be so far above these 
Fifth Light creatures that they’ll 
never see, feel, or hear these pas- 
sive Heaviside Layer creatures. 
You see, since the Fifth Light 
beings have weapons that include 
colors and heat, they can’t be very 
high in the scale themselves in order 
to use such weapons. 

“So, my idea is to bring a space 
ship — our space ship — ^very close to 
the control lever in the power house, 
and I’ll hop out and pull it over. 
Then, before the scale has time to 
get to the highest point. I’ll be back 
in the ship with the door shut. This 
world will apparently melt from 
under us into invisibility — but the 
race will be safe because they can 
stand any height of spectrum range. 
Manifestly they’re not versed in 
warfare or they’d have thought of 
the same thing themselves.” 

“But what’s the good of it all?” 
Max demanded. “You’re making 
these Heaviside Layer people safe, 
but what about us? It means we 
fail!” 

“On the contrary, it means the 
strangest and yet the most success- 
ful battle ever waged,” the analyst 
returned with unshakable calmness. 
“These creatures, when they arrive, 
and find that both light-beings and 
we have disappeared, will assume 
that we have become afraid and 
have, to be vulgar, run for it. 
They’re sure to search around for 
a while, and in that time our camera 
projectors will show where they are. 
Then, it is a point of training our 
radio-carrier waves upon them — de- 
stroying them. It will mean either 
the end of the human race or them, 
and I prefer it to be them. They’ll 
have no mercy after the death ot 
the Light Brain. You see, we’ll be 
invisible to them, and they to us, 



JHE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



79 



yet the invisible war will go on be- 
tween us until either we blow them 
clean to Pluto, or their inefficient 
heat-and-color beams somehow up- 
set us — and that isn’t likely. You 
get it?” 

“Masterly!” Max breathed. “But, 
say, how will these creatures know 
the Light Brain has been destroyed, 
when they can’t see the Light 
Brain?” 

Walford sighed. “There being no 
communication from him will be 
quite enough to convince them, be- 
lieve me. Now, I’ll arrange things 
right away, otherwise, if they 
should come now, we’ll be out of 
luck.” 

VI. 

WITHIN half an hour plans had 
been duly made, and, finding the 
ultra-violet effects had duly ceased, 
thanks to the efforts of Hanilof, the 
party prepared for departure, the 
pilot of each vessel understanding 
exactly what it was his duty to do. 

This done, the entire fleet, save 
Walford’s ship, took off into the 
void, and there waited for their 
commander to arrive. Walford, in 
the meantime, brought his ship 
down within a few feet of the hazily 
visible control room and within a 
moment was through the transpar- 
ent wall. 

Seizing the lever, he flung it over 
to the farthest possible radiation 
above ultra-violet in the invisible 
spectrum, then turned and sped back 
toward the ship. Even as he prac- 
tically gained the vessel, the floor 
was apparently sagging under his 
flying feet. A horror seized him 
that perhaps he had not allowed 
himself enough time, or had made 
the distance too long. Beyond 
doubt, had the space ship been a 
yard farther away, he would have 
plunged through the now trans- 



parent floor into the black void be- 
low. 

As it was, he struggled desper- 
ately through the manhole doorway, 
quick hapds seized his arms, and at 
the precise second of that peculiar 
molecular collapse the space ship 
floated safely into space. 

“Gosh, that was close !” Max whis- 
tled. “You all right?” 

“Yes,” Walford replied, some- 
what shaken. “Guess I hardly ex- 
pected it would be so long a jump. 

I misjudged the distance a trifle. 
However, no harm done. O. K., I’ll 
take over.” 

He moved to the control board 
and swung the ship round until he 
occupied a central position in the 
fleet of forty space ships, glittering 
in the light of a blazing, promi- 
nence-edged Sun. 

“Now, boys,” he said into the mi- 
crophone, “set your photographic^ 
machines going at fifteen-minute in- 
tervals. The moment an3rthing is 
seen, stand by for orders.” 

Max turned to their own machine, 
and set it in true with the black 
void where, now invisible, lay the 
world of the Heaviside Layer crea- 
tures. 

Frequent tests revealed no trace of 
anything, then upon the fourth ef- 
fort the screen revealed signs of 
the invaders — a fleet of perhaps 
twenty hazy space machines, oc- 
cuping a position practically in the 
circle the terrestrial vessels had 
created. 

“Great!” Walford exulted, when 
he had studied the screen for a 
space. “Not much calculation 
needed for this.” 

He pulled out his color compass 
and watched it very intently for a 
space. It began to swing round in- 
decisively, coming to rest alter- 
nately upon orange, then on extreme 
red. 



80 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



“Their rays are in action — their 
heat and color,” he remarked. “The 
compass shows it, but we feel noth- 
ing and see nothing, so we can take 
it for granted we’re safe. O. K., 
boys, let them have it !” 

He depressed the button upon the 
radio-carrier wave generator, and 
the machine hummed into life. 
Then, in company with Max and 
Ada, he gazed with flinty eyes into 
the spectrum screen. The carrier 
waves from the forty space ships 
became instantly visible as pul- 
sating red beams — radio waves, so 
high in the spectrum as to appear 
solid — and solid also to the space 
ships of the Fifth Light creatures. 

The instant that paralyzing bar- 
rage of destruction smote the in- 
vaders their ships crumbled up like 
cardboard beneath a sledge ham- 
mer. Seven of the twenty collapsed 
oii the spot, spewing forth strange 
spots of light that perhaps were the 
light-beings themselves. For a time 
the void was a mass of red beams 
and crumbling whiteness, in the 
screens, at least. Through the ordi- 
nary window not a thing was vis- 
ible — space was empty! Incredible 
war I Waged in the void, each party 
invisible to the other. 

“That carrier wave is a scorcher !” 
Walford breathed. “Those poor 
devils being of the same vibration 
just don’t stand a chance. Like us 
having ten tons of gravel dropped 
on top of us! Funny, that! If 
gravel fell on these devils it would 
go through them and they’d be un- 
harmed. I’ll never understand the 
cosmos and what it contains if I 
live to be three thousand years old. 
Hello! They’re turning tail!” 

“I don’t blame them!” Max mur- 
mured. 

“Bob, why not follow them?” Ada 
asked quickly, her eyes bright. “If 
we do that you’ll be able to And 



where they live, and get rid of them 
for all time. The3r’re always apt to 
do damage — if not to us, to the in- 
offensive beings of the Heaviside 
Layer. Go on — follow them up!” 

“It’s a brain wave, Ada.” 

Walford turned to the microphone. 
“Stop radiating!” he ordered. “Fol- 
low these devils back home — ^to 
Alpha Centauri if need be!” 

Immediately the destructive car- 
rier waves were extinguished, and 
attention given solely to control 
boards and spectrum screens. Si- 
lently the pick-up reels on the pro- 
jectors took up their record of the 
amazing battle, for future use. With 
like silence the feed spool revolved 
slowly, being replaced by Max’s ex- 
pert hands the moment it came to 
an end of its thousand-foot length. 

AT FIRST SLOWLY, then gath- 
ering speed, the amazing chase be- 
gan — following the invisible — to the 
eye — through the reaches of empty 
space, keeping constantly on the 
track of the sadly d.epleted Fifth 
Light fleet — invisible, deadly aven- 
gers. Indeed, it was more than 
vengeance — it was complete destruc- 
tion, for the color and heat beams 
of the Fifth Light people were com- 
pletely useless against the, to them, 
impregnably solid power of their 
adversaries. Nor had they spectriun 
screens to aid them. 

The journey through the void 
went past the Moon’s orbit, past 
Mars’, and still went on. Anally at- 
taining a terrific velocity as the 
space ships of the Fifth Light peo- 
ple flew faster and faster, until Wal- 
ford could only guess at their mo- 
tive power. Probably something 
similar to the one he had devised. 

The terrible acceleration began to 
tell upon the Earthlings as time 
passed, for they were forced to 
maintain the terrific speed in order 
AST-5 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



81 



to keep their enemies in sight. In 
Walford’s particular ship, he and 
Max took turns at the controls, 
lying down in the intervals. Ada, 
they had insisted, should lie down 
all the time while the strain con- 
tinued. 

It was an existence of intense 
nerve strain and excitement, for the 
analyst in particular. He had not 
only had his own ship to control, 
but also give directions to the rest 
of the fleet. Food the trio snatched 
at intervals — not altogether because 
they wanted it, but because they 
knew the necessity of keeping their 
bodies sustained. 

Then at last the invading fleet 
showed signs of slowing down, with- 
in a few million miles of the orbit 
of mighty Jupiter. Indeed, the 
giant planet hung in the void far 
away to the right, a vast equatorially 
bulging spheroid, etched out against 
the supernal blackness of inflnite 
space, and attended by its ret- 
inue of seemingly three-dimensional 
brightly gleaming nine moons. 

Attention again became riveted to 
the spectrum screens. Walford 
glued his eyes to his. A vague land- 
scape was forming ; the speed of the 
Fifth Light ships was fast decreas- 
ing. More time passed, then they 
began to descend upon a landscape 
similar to that of the Heaviside 
Layer, and also horizonless, ap- 
parently. A faintly visible extent 
of ghostly buildings was in evi- 
dence. 

“So this is their hide-out!” Wal- 
ford muttered, his lips tightening. 
“The murderous, backbiting fiends! 
All right — there is a certain portion 
of the spectrum scale that is going 
to become visible, and then it’s 
going to go down, down, down the 
scale to destruction!” 

“Say, what are you getting at?” 

AST-6 



Max demanded, as the analyst gave 
the halt order. 

“Just this. Neither Earth nor the 
Heaviside Layer people will be in- 
terfered with by these creatures 
again. I’m going to obliterate their 
entire world, and a good thing, too ! 
Transform the lot of them into heat 
— destroy them,” 

“Heat? In a void?” 

It was clear Max was puzzled. 
Ada looked on wonderingly. 

“The same stunt we tried to force 
the Light Brain to climb down the 
scale. We’re going to force these 
creatures down the scale so that 
they can’t go up without meeting 
our radio-carrier waves, and to go 
dovm means the dissolution of their 
world by going into the destructive 
infra-red and calorific regions, 
which to them will mean such an in- 
crease in their electronic motions 
that it will cause death by their own 
radiant energy. You remember 
what happened to the master? We’ll 
not be murderous by doing that. 
They can choose destruction by our 
beam or destroy themselves by 
avoiding it.” 

Walford turned to the microphone 
and with a set face gave the order. 
Then, his hand controlling his own 
carrier-wave generator, he looked 
grimly into the screen. It was even 
then a vision of red, pulsating 
beams. 

Then very gradually he increased 
the wave length of the carrier wave, 
giving the order into the micro- 
phone at the same time. 

Point nought four Nought 

three Nought two ” 

Abruptly, through the space-ship 
windows, the world of the Fifth 
Light beings became visible, but it 
resulted at the same time in some- 
thing Walford had not reckoned 
with. 

Finding their enemies floating 



82 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



above their land the space-ship 
crews on the hazy ground below 
suddenly released a terrific batter- 
ing-ram of surging orange and helio- 
trope colors. Walford’s jaw 
dropped as he beheld five Earth- 
ships go suddenly reeling away to 
destruction, uncontrolled. 

“Hell’s bells!” he spat out. “I 
forgot! Now they’re the same 
vibration as we are their colors and 
stuff are effectual. Of course! But 

color couldn’t do that Ah, I 

get it! The vibration of color loos- 
ens the molecular structure of the 
brain. Great heavens, then it must 
have turned the pilots at the win- 
dows of those ships raving mad! 
Say, keep out of sight of those col- 
ors!” he bawled into the micro- 
phone. 

Not only the colors but also the 
heat beams began to have effect. 
These terrific beams, deadly accurate 
now the creatures below could see 
their foes, smote upward with dev- 
astating force, containing within 
themselves no heat, but transform- 
ing into kindling, lurid energy the 
moment they impinged upon a solid. 
Pour more space ships dripped to 
destruction, radio-carrier wave 
beams waving wildly in the void — 
for at this point in the spectrum 
scale the radio waves were vaguely 
visible. 

“Go on — lengthen your wave 
lengths!” Walford shouted desper- 
ately. “Let ’em have it!” 

And with a vicious twist he went 
down a point lower, resulting in the 
world below suddenly becoming 
blue. Obviously the land was con- 
trolled on the same principle as that 
of the Heaviside Layer people— -by 
a control lever which fixed the spec- 
trum point necessary. 

Each time- the radio-carrier waves 
lengthened their wave lengths, the 



hapless creatures below also dropped 
one lower to avoid it. Yet they still 
fought on mightily, beams and color 
rays stabbing through emptiness, the 
remaining twenty space ships from 
Earth now concentrating all their 
radio waves with fixed, immovable 
intensity. 

“Lower! Lower!” Walford ground 
out, face wet with sweat. 

Peacock color — green — yellow- 
orange — 

The incredible land below was a 
haze of colors as it hurtled down 
the spectrum scale. At least the 
creatures had courage. Rather than 
meet instant death before the radio- 
carrier waves they were choosing 
the other death, perhaps even more 
terrible. Radiant-energy destruc- 
tion — the very disintegration of 
their queer bodies. For, to them, 
infra-red in the spectrum was what 
to an Earthling the void would be — 
instant death. 

“Lower!” Walford thundered 
mercilessly. “Lower !” 

The light-world slowly changed 
from orange to red. Then down to 
extreme red. Then — it had gone! 
Soundlessly, completely. Destroyed! 

“Stop!” Walford croaked huskily. 
“Stop! We’ve done it! No more 
will the Fifth Light beings inter- 
fere with the ways of men and less 
hostile races.” 

IT WAS a depleted fleet that 
made its way leisurely back through 
the void to the regions of the Heavi- 
side Layer people. A journey ac- 
complished comfortably, and with 
attention to the needs of the body, 
for the entire party on every ship 
was worn out with the strain and 
tension of the battle. 

To a great extent they had recov- 
ered when their spectrum screen 
showed that they had come within 



THE BRAIN OF LIGHT 



83 



the region of the Heaviside Layer 
people. To their great surprise, 
however, as they came closer, the 
region became visible through the 
windows. Below, they could detect 
an enormous crowd of the light- 
beings, looking upward with their 
purple eyes, and radiating colors 
amid themselves the while. 

Immediately Walford gave the 
stopping order, and the ships de- 
scended lightly to the shining 
ground. 

“The Fifth Light beings turned 
and fled, so we thought it safe to 
come out,” explained Hanilof. “We 
saw it in our machines. What hap- 
pened to them? We have been wait- 
ing for your return, and when our 
detectors showed you in close 
proximity we made ourselves vis- 
ible to you.” 

Walford smiled grimly. “You’ve 
no need to worry about those crea- 
tures any more. They have gone — 
forever. And also has the menace 
to Earth. Indeed, only one thing 
is left to trouble me.” 

“It is?” 

“Our radio-televisor. It cannot be 
used for fear of the destruction it 

will bring to you creatures ” 

The analyst paused as Hanilof inter- 
rupted him. 

“We have decided among our- 
selves to repay you for your kind- 
ness in aiding us when danger 
threatened. This being so, we have, 
of mutual consent, decided to move 
our plane of existence to another 
spot in the void. We will girt our 
world about some other planet, per- 
haps a young planet where radio 
will be unknown and we can live in 
peace. It will mean security for 
us and happiness for you, for your 
radio efforts will be so perfect as to 
be unbelievable with our vibratory 
screen removed. You can perhaps 



attain your long wish to communi- 
cate with Mars — though perhaps 
now you have space ships you will 
no longer wish to.” 

“Even the acquisition of space 
ships doesn’t mean regular radio 
communication with the planets,” 
Walford responded. “Again and 
again my thanks for your decision. 
You have opened a vast held of 
progress on Earth.” 

Once more the color bands ra- 
diated. 

“Generosity is not entirely the 
gift of an Earthling — ^nor is grati- 
tude. You will find the element in 
the cosmos, too. We have met, you 
have liberated us, and now we must 
part — infinites apart in knowledge, 
yet linked together with a common 
bond, of — gratitude!” 

HANILOF kept his word. Some 
two weeks after the return to Earth 
announcements began to filter 
through of astoundingly improved 
radio all over the world. Static was 
entirely missing, except during 
thunderstorms. Curious it was that 
the public did not attribute this 
clarity to the removal of the Heavi- 
side Layer — ^which few understood 
— but to the now firmly world-estab- 
lished Walford-Forsythe radio-tele- 
vision transmitters. 

“Wonderful what young brains 
can do to-day!” commented one 
sagely. 

“Yes, even conquered atmos- 
pherics and fading !” agreed another 
with a wise nod. 

Indeed, the experts held out 
strong possibility of final communi- 
cation with other worlds, even with 
normal radio, without recourse to 
the ultra-powerful Walford ma- 
chine. 

“After all, folks,” Max Forsythe 
said, standing in front of a micro- 



84 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



phone at a local transmitting sta- 
tion, with a televisor before him, “I 
can’t claim all the wonderful im- 
provements in radio transmission 
and reception are caused by the 
Walford-Forsythe machines. You 
have seen the Heaviside Layer and 
its people on your local cinema 
screens, from the films we brought 
back with us. It is removal of those 
peoples and their land that causes 
such perfection in present-day 
radio. I can only hope that the new 
system of broadcasting will make 
you all as happy as — er — my wife 
and I are to be — er — broadcasting to 
you now. We have done many 
things to make this invention pos- 
sible.” 

He smiled wryly at the words and 
Ada shot him a significant look. 



An announcer of the station hov- 
ered in the background. 

In an adjoining anteroom, gazing 
into a screen and smoking leisurely, 
was Walford himself. He watched 
the two embrace, then the view 
faded. 

“H’m, most interesting!” he com- 
mented. “If the dolts that listened 
knew what the Heaviside Layer was 
we might get somewhere. As it is. 
Max is purely wasting his time. 
Done a few things to make the in- 
vention possible is curiously near 
the mark. Enemies of light for in- 
stance.” 

And with the calm detachment for 
which he was remarkable, he 
watched his cigarette smoke curl up- 
ward to the dome of neon light in 
the ceiling. 



STEPPING ALONGI 

I feel pretty good this month. Thank you, all of you, for your fine 
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Of course I know it isn’t perfect, but you understand that I have many 
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I’m keeping faith with you and I have confidence that you are keeping faith 
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I’m attempting to give you more than value received; driving forward to 
give you all there is every month. 

Don’t fear that we can’t continue to progress. We can, and will, move 
forward every issue. I think you will agree that, from October to date, every 
issue has improved by leaps. 

Then let me conhde that I expect next month to make the biggest announce- 
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We aren’t resorting to trickery to gain and hold your loyalty. Rather, we 
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We’re bringing you a new conception next month. The sort of story you 
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this time, and the title is; " Sidewise in Time." I can assure you it is a real, 
vital, gripping Thought-variant. 

And one other thing. Many of you have asked for "tl^ editor’s name/’ 
Now it isn’t a secret and I’m not hiding — but don’t you think that the more 
important thing is the magazine the editor produces? I do. It’s my " front.” 
Shall we let it go at that? ' — The Editor. 




Illustrated 
by C. R. 
Thom- 
son 



We were 
held helpless 
— paralyzed! 



The Generation 



Here is a new approach to the idea 
broached in **Short Wave Castle** 



by NAT SCHACHNER 



1 HADN’T seen Bayley Spears 
since our apprenticeship to- 
gether at the Woods Hole 
Laboratories, so that when I re- 
ceived his rather urgent written in- 
vitation to spend the week-end with 
him, I packed my bag, kissed my 



wife and infant son good-by, and 
caught the late Friday afternoon 
train from the little university town 
where I taught biology and evo- 
lutionary theory to unreceptive 
freshmen and seniors alike. 

The train journey consumed some 





86 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



three hours, so I had plent7 of time 
for reflection. In a way the in- 
vitation puzzled me. We had been 
friendly enough at Woods Hole, but 
that was almost ten years before. 
Since then our paths had diverged. 
Bayley Spears, sole heir of millions, 
had established his own Foundation 
and forged rapidly into the fore- 
front of research in the fields of 
heredity and eugenics. 

These had been my particular 
absorptions, too; but I had lacked 
a wealthy father, and the respon- 
sibilities of an early marriage — 
which I have never regretted— com- 
pelled me to accept a routine teach- 
ing position in an obscure uni- 
versity which gave me neither the 
leisure nor the equipment for ex- 
tend^ biological research. 

The Foundation was an imposing 
building, and the anteroom with its 
modernistic furnishings and even 
more modern young woman re- 
ceptionist smacked more of stocks 
and bonds than of honest science; 
but I let it pass. As I have said, 
Spears had plenty of money. 

I gave my name and took a seat. 

“Mr. Spears is busy in the 
laboratory just now,” said the blond 
young woman. “He left word for 
you to wait.” 

I am a patient, plodding sort of 
man, so it didn’t matter. And in a 
few minutes the receptionist said: 
“Here is Mr. Spears now. He is 
ready to see you.” 

“Awfully glad you came. Rad,” 
he said, shaking my hand warmly. 
“I was afraid you mightn’t be able 
to make it.” He stood back a bit 
and looked me over. “Still the same 
Radburn Phelps,” he remarked 
affectionately, “a bit stoutish, a bit 
grayish, and — shall I say — a bit 
domesticated?” 

“And you,” I responded wonder- 



ingly, “haven’t changed a bit in ten 
years.” 

In fact, he hadn’t. His dark, lean 
face, his quick, nervous walk and 
talk, the blaze of his piercing black 
eyes, were exactly as I had remem- 
bered them. 

"Let’s get down to business,” he 
interrupted brusquely. “I called 
you here for a purpose. I’ve started 
something big, and I can use you. 
Come into my laboratories.” 

We went through palatial speci- 
men rooms, through a lounge room, 
through a gleaming white operating 
room that would have shamed most 
hospitals, into a huge laboratory 
outfitted with every conceivable bit 
of equipment to make a poverty- 
stricken biologist’s heart nearly 
burst with envy. 

Spears steer^ me to a long, glass- 
inclosed incubator, thermostatically 
controlled for constant blood heat. 

“Here,” he said, "take a look at 
that.” 

I EXAMINED the jars of jelly 
nutrient inside its transparent walls, 
neatly arranged in rows, and all 
bearing printed labels. The con- 
tents meant nothing; the jars might 
have housed an infinite diversity of 
forms of microscopic life, or noth- 
ing at all. But the labels evoked a 
slight gasp from me. 

The front row bore on top in large 
letters: Spermatozoa. Underneath 
in smaller print were names. I ran 
over them hastily, then again,, more 
slowly. I recognized those names; 
so would any man of average 
acquaintance with the world’s 
affairs. There were ten jars, and 
the names were the names of ten of 
the most commanding figures in the 
world to-day. 

One was a statesman of vision and 
understanding; another a play- 
wright whose acclaim was almost 



THE 100th GENERATION 



87 



delirious. There was a Nobel prize 
winner in physics; a composer who 
had explored new harmonies ; a 
chemist of international repute; an 
artist who made Cezanne appear a 
plodding primitive; and the others 
were equally famous in their respec- 
tive fields. 

My eye traveled a bit dazedly to 
the rear now. Here the jars were 
uniformly labeled : Ova. Under- 

neath were also names — names of 
women. A famous social worker; a 
writer of penetrating novels; a 
regnant beauty and top-flight 
actress; and the name of a famous 
singer. 

“Good heavens, Spears,” I gasped, 
“what does this mean?” 

He rubbed his hands with that 
quick impetuousness of his, eyes 
glowing fanatically. “Rad,” he said, 
“I am about to begin the most im- 
portant experiment ever performed 
in a laboratory. It is nothing more 
or less than the propagation of a 
new race of men, under strict 
laboratory conditions and under my 
control. The dream of every 
eugenist of the past century is about 
to take shape and form.” 

I rubbed my eyes and peered 
again at the labels. There was awe 
in my voice when I spoke. “You 
mean to say you were able to obtain 
— er — specimens from all these 
people?” 

“Yes, I finally managed it. It 
took a heap of time and patience, of 
money in some cases, of cajolings 
and appeals to vanity in others; but 
there they are — my specimens — 
complete. The very ones I wanted. 
Rad.” 

He leaned over me earnestly. 
“You and I had discussed eugenics 
at length at Woods Hole; we pon- 
dered the day when large-scale 
mating for definite inheritable 
qualities would be possible. I have 



gone much further. I approached 
these ten men and ten women only 
after the most careful study of their 
particular talents and forms of 
genius — ^more, I traced the gene- 
tdogy of each back over genera- 
tions to insure that there were no 
flaws in their heredities; that the 
particular qualities I looked for 
were dominant in their families. I 
must confess I have been eminently 
successful.” 

I stared in fascination at the in- 
nocent-looking jars. 

“I understand this much,” I ad- 
mitted finally. “You intend mating 
particular ovum with particular 
sperm ectogenically— outside the 
body — and no doubt you’ve prepared 
nutrient solutions in which the 
fertilized ova can grow normally. 
But in Heaven’s name, where will it 
get you? You will have incubator 
babies who will grow to manhood 
and womanhood, and then you must 
start all over again, convincing 
them and mating particular germ 
cells once more. I believe we had 
decided that an experiment in 
human eugenics required at least 
twenty to fifty generations to show 
definitive results, and you and I and 
all our works will be dead long be- 
fore that time.” 

Bayley burned hotly with the 
fiame of his own devising. “That,” 
he cried, “is where you are wrong.” 
He hitched his chair closer to mine. 
“Let’s get down to fundamentals. 
Inheritance is carried in the germ 
plasm, or, rather, in the genes 
making up the chromatin in the 
germ plasm, isn’t it?” 

“Well?” I said rather impatiently. 

“And from Weissman’s day on, it 
is indisputable that this germ plasm, 
present in original ovum and sperm, 
is carried on unchanged to the next 
generation and handed on by it to 
the next, so that heredity is simply 



88 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



the continuity of the germ plasm 
from generation to generation.” 

I still didn’t see the point and said 
so plainly. 

“Sheer blindness!” he almost 
shouted. “Why must we bother 
growing each generation to 
maturity? Can’t we achieve exactly 
the same results by waiting until 
the mesoderm, which contains the 
germ plasm, is formed in the fertil- 
ized ova, and remating its germinal 
cells with similar cells from another 
fertilized egg?” 

I stared. “That has never been 
done before.” 

“Wrong again,” he contradicted. 

“I’ve just established the proper 
technique. Within the space of one 
year, by continued fertilizations of 
mesoderm germ plasm, we shall have 
telescoped a hundred generations 
and skipped almost three thousand 
years of human life.” 

I was so dazed that all I could do 
was echo feebly the word : “We?” 

Spears rose and placed his hand 
on my shoulder. “Yes, we. I’m 
rotten at actual laboratory manual 
technique* and you, I remember, 
were rather a wizard at it. The 
separation of the mesoderm cells is 
an exceedingly delicate process. 
I’m offering you a job, living quar- 
ters for your family, and — you don’t 
have to worry about the pay.” 

IT WAS more than a year later, 
fourteen months to be exact, when 
we completed our one hundredth 
generation. We stood watching the 
rows of bottles filled with nutrient 
jelly, each housing fertilized, grow- 
ing ova, pure-bred, containing defi- 
nite inherited characteristics in 
accordance with Spears’ decisions, 
and plotted out on an immense chart 
facing us on the laboratory wall. 

“We’ve reached the goal,” I re- 
marked. “I suppose you’ll let this 



generation grow to normal 
maturity.” 

Spears was literally devouring the 
contents of the incubator with his 
eyes. “Yes.” Then to himself, as if 
I were not present, he added softly : 
“Three thousand years ahead into 
the future! Men and women of the 
year 4934, I salute you!” 

I faced him firmly. “Listen to me, 
Bayley. I’ve been wanting to say 
things to you for months, ever since 
I saw how you were controlling the 
inheritance of these — these beings of 
the laboratory. I’m uneasy — more, 
I’m scared.” 

“What do you mean?” he asked 
sharply. 

“Just this: I admit I didn’t like 
th^ idea from the very beginning. 
And I’ll also admit it was the more 
than generous pay you offered that 
tempted me. Now it’s at an end and 
I can talk freely. This experiment 
of ours may lead to dangerous con- 
sequences. In the first place, we 
know very little about the so-called 
laws of eugenics — it’s been all 
theory as far as man is concerned. 

“In the second place, we haven’t 
worked as nature works, or even as 
animal breeders do. We permitted 
no generation to grow to maturity; 
we worked from germ cell to germ 
cell. The outside world, environ- 
mental influences, the molding and 
shaping and eradication of false 
starts, of possible lethal mutations, 
have all been eliminated. We do not 
know what other qualities have de- 
veloped in these hundred genera- 
tions beside the ones we bred for. 

“Furthermore,” I continued, 
warming up to my harangue — it had 
been in my mind for quite a while — 
“you’ve bred fanatically. Musician 
with musician, physicist with 
physicist, writer with writer, again 
and again, exclusively. Inbreeding 
of the worst type ; never a chance for 



THE 100th GENERATION 



89 



new blood, new vigor from outside 
strains with more ordin^y qualities. 
Heaven only knows what the result 
may be when they all grow up into 
men and women.” 

Spears stared at me. “You’re 
crazy, man. This is the greatest ex- 
periment of all time.” 

“And the most dangerous. Listen, 
Bayley,” I said earnestly. “Take my 
advice and destroy these — er — speci- 
mens before it is too late.” 

He laughed shortly and turned 
away from me, to gaze at those con- 
founded jars with the worshipful 
eyes of a religious fanatic. “Now I 
know you are crazy!” 

I shrugged. Of course I hadn’t 
expected anything else. 

“What are your plans for rearing 
these embryos, when they turn into 
normal human babies?” I asked. I 
had asked that same question before, 
during the course of our work, and 
each time Spears had evaded me. 
Now, however, he told me. 

“I’ve everything arranged. I’m 
not taking any chances on con- 
tamination from that outside world 
you spoke of so reverently, and I 
want no legal complications as to 
control. I’m sailing with my em- 
bryos within a week to a certain 
obscure island in the South Pacific, 
now uninhabited. I’m taking along 
full equipment, a nurse, a doctor, 
and a child psychologist. No one 
shall know of my destination, of my 
plans, until I return with my new 
race, some twenty years hence.” 
“But food, clothing, necessary 
supplies!” I said, overwhelmed. 

“I have left instructions. A ship, 
with a trustworthy captain I know, 
will call once a year. Even he won’t 
see my charges. He will pick up a 
bottle on an outside reef in which 
my requirements for the next cargo 
will be listed.” 

“Twenty years!” I said slowly, 



then shook his hand. “You are a 
true scientist, Spears.” 

“I want you along,” he remarked. 

“Me?” I echoed startled, and 
shook my head. “Sorry; it’s im- 
possible. Aside from my doubts, I 
have a wife and a child.” I smiled 
quizzically. “A normal youngster, 
growing in quite ordinary fashion.” 

He appeared disappointed. “I’m 
sorry, too. In that event. Rad, you 
are welcome to my Foundation and 
certain funds I’ll leave in trust. No 
sense in your going back to that 
stifling little university.” 

I could only answer inanely to this 
most generous deed of gift. “But 
you — ^where is this island? Where 
can I ” 

He shook his head. “I’m not tell- 
ing — not even you. I intend drop- 
ping out of sight completely. I 
want no interference with my plsms.” 

I PROSPERED rather well; not 
because of any particular talent of 
my own, but because of the splendid 
equipment of Spears’ Foundation — I 
kept the name — and the very gener- 
ous funds left at my disposal. My 
name became rather well known in 
biological circles, and I flatter my- 
self that some of the work I did at- 
tracted attention. 

The years passed, and inevitably 
I grew older. My paunch grew with 
the years, my hair thinned to semi- 
baldness, what little was left of it 
was quite gray — in short, I was in 
my fifties. The one great sorrow of 
my life was the death, some five 
years before, of my wife. She had 
been loyal and devoted in adversity, 
and it was a pity she had not tasted 
sufficiently of the fruits of my 
prosperity. 

My only son — officially William 
Phelps, but Bill to me and all his 
comrades — was being graduated 
from college within a month, and 



90 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



he was at once my pride and — I 
must confess, a bit of a disappoint- 
ment. Not that he wasn’t a good 
lad ; far from it. He was twenty-one 
now, athletic, a football star to be 
exact, kindly, merry, splendidly 
straight. But he was not a scholar, 
and he certainly was not a scientist. 

He was in my laboratory now, 
watching with amused affection 
what it pleased him to call my 
potterings around, while for the 
thousandth time I thought of the 
vagaries of heredity, and for the 
thousandth time of Bayley Spears 
and his young men and women with 
their one hundred generations of 
pure-bred, controlled heritage ahead 
of the present human race. 

True to his word, he had vanished 
completely from sight, together with 
his jars of embryos, and, true to my 
own promise, I had made no attempt 
to find him. The twenty-year period 
was nearly up, and I must confess I 
was waiting anxiously for his re- 
turn. The results, one way or an- 
other, would prove of incalculable 
importance. 

“Hurry up, dad !” said my son and 
heir a bit impatiently, looking at his 
wrist watch. “We’re late for the 
game now.” 

“I’ve got to finish this. It’ll take 
only another five minutes.” And be-‘ 
cause I was rushed, I pottered only 
the more, as was my wont. At last 
. I was through, washed up, and ready 
to go. 

My secretary came in. “A gentle- 
man to see you, sir.” 

Bill intervened: “Tell him to 

come to-morrow. We’re leaving.” 

“His name is Captain John Law- 
rence,” she went on coolly, as 
though he had not spoken, “and he 
is a sailor. Said it was most im- 
portant — urgent was the word he 
used.” 



I felt a bit uneasy. “Show him 
in,” I said. 

He was the typical grizzled, 
weather-beaten sea captain — of 
similarly weather-beaten old 
freighters, that is, not of your 
fancy liners. He plunged into his 
story at once. 

“It’s about Mr. Spears, sir. 
There’s trouble, though for the life 
of me I don’t know what. Y’see, he 
hired me under strict secrecy these 
twenty years back, t’make annual 
stops at a certain little island in the 
South Seas. It ain’t even on the 
maps, it’s so small an’ out of the 
way. 

“Well, according to contract — and, 
mind you, I was paid well for my 
trouble — I put in around March 1st, 
regular. My instructions was to 
anchor off the reef that went all 
around the island and pick up a 
bottle moored to a buoy. In it I 
found lists of things to bring on my 
next voyage, and on the reef was a 
huge steel case to hold the stuff I 
brought along.” 

“But Spears, man!” I interrupted 
excitedly. “How was he all these 
years, what did he say?” 

He looked at me blankly, shifting 
his seaman’s cap from hand to hand. 
“I don’t rightly know, sir. Y’see, I 
never saw him, nor hide nor hair of 
anything on the island. It’s deeply 
wooded, and the shore is all cliff. 
Only one place I could see blue 
water, a sort of inlet leading into 
the interior. Well, this March 1st, 
as per usual, I put in and found my 
bottle. Everything was as normal, 
but the note in the bottle — ^well, 
here, read it for yourself.” 

HE UNBUTTONED his pea- 
jacket, fumbled in an inside pocket, 
and brought out a soiled, folded 
scrap of paper. I literally tore it 
from his hand in my eagerness and 



THE 100th GENERATION 



91 



ripped it open. Bill was leaning 
over my shoulder. It is a tribute to 
the captain’s story that Bill had for- 
gotten completely about the big 
baseball game of the year. 

“Danger!” It read in a trembling 
script so imlike Spears’ former bold, 
discursive strokes. “By the time 
you pick this up, very likely I’ll be 
dead. Better so! I should have 
heeded Phelps’ warning. Too late 
now! Sheer off at once; don’t at- 
tempt a landing. Go to nearest 
naval station of any great power; 
have warships sent to blow this 
accursed island out of the water. 
Above all, no landings! 

“The world must be protected 
from what this blot on nature holds. 
I knew it years ago, but I was stub- 
born. I thought to change things. 
I am paying the penalty. Deliver 
this to Radburn Phelps, care of 
Spears’ Foundation, Briarcliff, 
N. Y. He was right, and I was 
wrong — hellishly wrong. I leave 
you everything. Rad ; all my worldly 
belongings. Good-by. I must sneak 
this off ; it’s my last chance.” 

It was signed : Baley Spears. 

My hand shook as I read it. I 
looked up at the grizzled sea cap- 
tain helplessly. Bill gave a sort of 
whoop. He had heard parts of 
Spears’ story from me. 

“Did you follow instructions. Cap- 
tain Lawrence, and raise the navy?” 
he snapped. 

The old salt shook his head. “No, 
sir. In the first place it would ’a’ 
sounded kind of lunatic, and I got 
a reputation to uphold. Ain’t never 
even reported a sea serpent in all 
my seagoing days. And in the 
second place, I didn’t like the idea 
of blowing the place up. Maybe 
Mr. Spears was still alive. So I 
thought I’d come to you first, sir, 
seeing as I didn’t know what it was 



all about, and I didn’t want t’do any- 
thing as might harm ’im.” 

Bill clapped him heartily on the 
back. “And you did absolutely 
right. A man of discretion and 
parts, I see. Where is this island?” 
He told us its bearings; it didn’t 
have a name. 

“And you came straight for New 
York?” 

“Took me nigh six weeks.” 
“How’s your crew?” 

“Good lads, all.” The captain 
grinned suddenly. “All armed, an’ 
spoiling for trouble.” 

“Good!” exclaimed my most re- 
markable offspring. “I see we 
understand each other.” 

I was sitting, dazed, overwhelmed. 
My old friend was dead; his great 
experiment gone to some frightful 
smash. I foimd it hard to grasp the 
thing entire. 

My son had no such difficulties. 
“We’ll have to pack in a hurry,” he 
told me casually. “You’ll be ready 
to sail to-morrow. Captain Law- 
rence?” 

The sailor nodded. “I left word 
in port to coal and provision her be- 
fore I came up here.” A most amaz- 
ing old salt! 

I came out of my daze. After all, 
I was no longer young, and rash de- 
cisions came hard. 

“We’ll do nothing of the sort, you 
young whelp,” I sputtered. “We’ll 
let well enough alone. I’m notify- 
ing Washington right away, so they 
may take the proper steps. Those 
were poor Bayley’s last wishes.” 
Accordingly, at noon sharp of the 
following day, the Mary of Scotland 
sailed out of a Brooklyn dock, every 
sail set to catch the whipping breeze, 
engines pounding under full pres- 
sure, bound for an unknown island 
in a little-known part of the South 
Seas. On board were Captain Law- 
rence and a hard-bitten crew of ten, 



92 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



together with Bill Phelps, self- 
appointed master of the expedition, 
and his doddering old father, a most 
seasick individual, and in every one’s 
way. 

WE RAISED the island exactly 
five weeks later. It loomed on the 
horizon like a veritable replica of 
Bocklin’s painting, the “Island of 
the Dead.” It was roughly circular 
in shape, and not over three miles in 
its greatest diameter. Frowning 
cliffs climbed perpendicularly out of 
the blue surge of the Pacific, and a 
reef, smothered in foam and only 
occasionally rearing its jagged 
rocks, seemed to encircle the island 
completely. 

We were all on deck, every man 
strained and excited. I had even 
forgotten the continuous, nightmare 
of seasickness that had followed me 
all the way from New York. 

“You see,” Captain Lawrence 
pointed to what seemed a platform 
of rock in mid-reef, “there’s where 
the buoy is to which the bottle was 
attached. And if you’ll look closely, 
you’ll observe the steel chest in 
which we put the supplies.” 

Bill shaded his eyes and looked. 
“I don’t see any opening through 
the reef.” 

“There is one, but it’s too shallow 
for our Mary. Just enough for a 
small boat.” 

We anchored near the reef. The 
lifeboat was launched and rowed 
over to the buoy. The mate came 
back soon and reported that the 
stores of the previous voyage had 
not been touched. I stared nerv- 
ously at the grim, battlemented 
island. The silence was ominous, 
the unstirring character of the 
wooded cliffs a threat. What mys- 
teries of evolution lay within? Per- 
haps — and my heart gave a bound — 
they were all dead. In that case 



“When do we land on the island?” 
I asked the captain. 

“We had intended exploring this 
afternoon,” he replied, with a sly, 
sidelong glance at my son. 

That obstreperous youngster said 
roughly: “Now look here, dad. 




But I am stubborn, too— on 
occasion — and I wanted to see at 
least the skeletons of those strange 
inheritors of the future. I was 
positive they were all dead and that 
this talk of danger was ridiculous. 

So when the boat sheered off I sat 
with the rest; the captain. Bill, and 
four members of the crew. All were 
armed with rifles and revolvers ex- 
cept myself. I had never used a gun 
in my life. 

We rowed through the gap in the 
foamy reef and circled the island in 
the comparatively still inner water. 
Halfway around was the inlet of 
which the captain had spoken, and 
we went in with swinging oars. The 
stream narrowed sharply between 
beetling walls until we could almost 
touch either side. Then it opened 
suddenly into a hollow, a bowl sur- 
rounded by precipices and lush with 
the vegetation of the South Seas. 
The stream trickled to an inglorious 
end not much farther on. 

At the farther end, close to the 
frowning wall of the mountain, 
nestled a series of well-constructed 
cabins. In front were what once no 
doubt, had been clearings, tilled 
patches of soil, but they were now 
overgrown with the crawling life of 
the jungle. Not a sound, not a sign, 
to show that human life still existed. 

“What is that?” Bill demanded 
sharply. 

The boat had grounded on a little 
sandy beach, and the men were peek- 
ing fearfully around. At the sound 



THE 100th GENERATION 



93 



of his voice, oars dropped and rifles 
sprang into jittery hands. 

A GIRL was coming down the 
mountainside, or, rather, she was 
clambering down an impossible wall 
with the agility and sure-footedness 
of a goat. Even as we gasped she 
sprang lightly into the valley and 
turned her face toward the inlet. 
Then we gasped some more. 

I am already an old man and not 
given to overexamination of pretty 
faces, but never in all my years had 
I ever seen such a glorious creature. 
She was a study in gold, as she 
stood, lightly poised, not yet seeing 
us, her rounded, supple limbs in- 
cased in khaki riding breeches and 
open blouse. The skin of her oval, 
cameo-cut face was a soft, warm 
gold, her hair was glittering, fine- 
spun gold, and later we noticed that 
her eyes, of sea green, had golden 
flecks that literally daxzled. 

“Damn !” said my son, and the 
curse had a most prayerful sound. 
I’m afraid that Bill, a most sus- 
ceptible youth, succumbed at that 
first sight. “If that’s what old 

Spears developed, then Hi, 

there!’’ he yelled. 

The girl swung around with a 
single flowing motion, saw us, and 
vanished in almost the same move- 
ment. Or so it seemed to me. For 
the nearest covert — a clump of palms 
— was at least fifty feet behind her. 

Bill sprang recklessly out of the 
boat and started running. I shouted 
after him, but he refused to hear. 
Then I, too, tumbled out. Captain 
Lawrence rasped an order, and he 
and two of the crew were at my side, 
following. Bill had already dis- 
appeared. 

I hobbled through the waist-high 
grass as fast as I could; Lawrence 
thoughtfully keeping pace with me. 



We had reached a point in the 
middle of the valley when song 
burst full-throated in the still, warm 
air. We stopped as though brought 
up against an invisible wall. At 
first I thought it was merely the sur- 
prise of hearing the singer, but I 
was soon to realize the horrible 
truth. 

I CALL it song, but in fact it was 
indescribable. The unseen voice 
had a vibrant timbre, a range I 
would have called unbelievable. It 
darted unhesitatingly over a range 
of four octaves ; the notes were keen, 
barbed shafts that imbedded them- 
selves under one’s skin and stung 
nerves into protesting life. I felt 
like a flayed animal under that 
strange torrent of sound. I quivered 
and groaned and could not move. 
Exquisite agonies brought tears to 
my eyes and beads of perspiration 
to my body. I saw the others ; they, 
too, were suffering, nor could they 
move. 

It flashed on me then — the 
hypnotic sway of this ultimate 
music, the keen, tortuous jangling 
of these superharmonies. I remem- 
bered with blinding clarity the chart 
in the laboratory ; the last mating of 
a hundred generations of the con- 
centrated offspring of a famous 
singer and a noted composer. There 
had been evolved a novel, an unex- 
pected weapon from melody, a bind- 
ing hypnotism more potent than 
guns and poison gas. 

I struggled to break the influence ; 
the sweat poured from me; but we 
were all fast bound. There was a 
rustle of movement from behind 
what I had thought deserted cabins, 
and two beings stepped into view. 
One at least might be termed human, 
though he was tall and willowy, with 
elongated head and pale, staring 
eyes. It was his mouth, though. 



94 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



which attracted the most attention. 
It was shaped like an ancient lyre, 
and across the protruding lips 
stretched a half dozen gutlike cords, 
which vibrated as he spoke. He, 
then, was the singer, the £ar-product 
of musical evolution. 

He turned his pale cold eyes on 
us and spoke to his companion. His 
vibrating voice cut like saw-edged 
knives: “These creatures resemble 
the primitive — Spears. They must 
have come from that outside world 
he used to talk about so much, eh, 
Lorn?” 

His companion definitely was not 
human. He was a whole chapter out 
of a nightmare. Evolution had done 
its worst as far as he was concerned. 
Everything about him was unhuman, 
from the tough warty skin that in- 
closed him, through the rubbery 
dangling fingers to the crowning 
horror of all — a single round, un- 
winking lidless eye set underneath 
a broad expanse of greenish fore- 
head. 

My voice was also paralyzed so I 
could not cry out. But my mind 
was clear. I visualized the chart. 
What and who could this be? Noth- 
ing that the chart could explain. 
Lorn must have been a mutant, some- 
where in the earlier generations, that 
had bred true and increased its 
divergence from generation to gen- 
eration. Afterward, by a series of 
eliminations, I discovered that he 
was the statesman run wild. 

That terrible eye seemed to bore 
through our immobile bodies. 

“No doubt, Musik,” he said finally 
in harsh, grating tones, “we must 
get rid of them, unless Bion wishes 
them for experimentation.” He 
shook his warty head. “Yes, de- 
cidedly, that would be wise. From 
Spears’ descriptions we should have 
no difficulty in gaining control over 



the subsavage tribes who inhabit the 
world, but it is better to be prepared. 
These living creatures by their re- 
actions to Bion’s tests will provide 
us with valuable information. The 
primitive, Spears, killed himself be- 
fore we learned much, and the 
others, very foolishly, we slew too 
quickly for dissection purposes. 
Bring them along.” 

Musik spread his mouth, the cords 
tautened, and a peculiar trill issued. 
Like automatons, stiff, volitionless, 
we moved jerkily through the lush 
growth. Horror enveloped me. 
These end-products of our own 
laboratory experiment were about to 
treat us even as we had treated them 
— curious subjects for experimen- 
tation. That reference to Spears — 
poor Spears, he was dead, then — 
made me gulp. There was no pity 
in these supercreatures of a hundred 
generations hence ; nothing but cold 
scientific curiosity and the lust to 
conquer a world inhabited by a 
primitive type of man. I had warned 
Spears, and I had been right. There 
were other factors in heredity be- 
sides talent and genius — there were 
the character traits of pity and 
understanding and justice and 
humanity, and these by desperate in- 
breeding had been removed or 
warped beyond our conceptions. 
And here was the result. 

Then I laughed, soundlessly, bit- 
terly. I had warned Spears; but 
Spears had also warned me. And 1 
had not heeded. He had known, and 
I had not. Not only were we to be 
subjects for some particularly 
frightful kind of reaction-study, 
that had made Spears kill himself 
rather than undergo further, but we 
would be directly responsible for an 
unsuspecting world becoming sub- 
jected to creatures against whom I 
already suspected there was no de- 
fense. 



THE 100th GENERATION 



95 



BY THIS time we had come 
mechanically to the rear of the 
cabins — even the two members of the 
crew we had left in the boat. The 
whole lower face of the cliff had 
been hollowed out into a deep-pene- 
trating cavern, whose rounded sides 
were of polished smoothness. Pas- 
sageways, glowing with soft light, 
radiated like the spokes of a wheel 
farther into the heart of the moun- 
tain. 

A laboratory occupied the rear, 
equipped partly with apparatus I 
recognized as Spears’, but mainly 
with instruments and machines of 
complicated design whose meanings 
were utterly imknown to me. In the 
front, seated in a circle, were the 
other products of our unfortunate 
artificial evolution — a strange, 
diverse, and unhuman group. I 
could see the wild glare of fear in 
the eyes of our sailors, and even I 
shuddered against the hypnotic in- 
fluence; though, from a knowledge 
of Spears’ matings of inheritable 
qualities, I could label most of them. 
There for example must be Bion, the 
scientist, with enormous bulging 
head and dwarf, waddling body. 
There was an affected woman with 
a dirty-green complexion and pro- 
truding lips — ^was there a courtesan 
somewhere in her line of heredity? 
Another was a giantess with mas- 
sive, rocklike features; a man with 
eyes that rolled round and round in 
their sockets and seemed to possess 
telescopic powers. There were some 
fifteen all told. Four of the original 
embryos, I found out afterward, had 
aborted or died in infancy, and the 
golden girl was missing. 

Musik trilled again, and pain 
stabbed through every nerve. Then 
warm life flowed back into my limbs. 

Lorn, the spokesman, bent his 
warty face on me. “Where do you 
primitives come from?” 



I determined to face them boldly, 
though my knees were shaking. 
“We come from the great world out- 
side, to which this island is but a 
tiny pin prick.” 

Lorn gave vent to a grating, con- 
temptuous laugh. “So Spears had 
said. It will give us room worthy 
of our powers.” 

“There are millions of human 
beings, and they possess weapons 
that can overwhelm you.” 

He was not impressed. “When we 
were infants Spears taught us of 
your weapons. Now that we are 
grown we have discarded such toys. 
We have invented our own. But 
why have you come to this island?” 

“I was a friend of Spears; in fact, 
I helped him in the experiment by 
reason of which you are now alive.” 

A growl went rumbling around the 
circle. 

Lorn’s wartiness sprang into 
bolder relief. It was the first sign 
of anger I had seen. “Lies !” he said. 
“You primitives arrogate too much 
to yourselves. No feeble mentalities 
such as you possess could have pos- 
sibly conceived the idea of us. We 
are a race apart, superior, on whom 
Spears stumbled when he landed on 
this island.” 

A roar of approval rose from the 
others. Passionless, coldly indif- 
ferent otherwise, this artificial 
generation had one sore spot — that 
reiterated insistence by Spears of 
their planned development. Vanity 
evidently was one primitive human 
trait that had not been outbred. 

I tried to play on it. “Neverthe- 
less, it is true. I could read each 
one of you the genes of heredity 
that went into your make-up.” 

Lorn, as I have said, was an inbred 
statesman. He grunted. “Enough of 
that, primitive. Bion will take 
charge of you. We require certain 
information about your tribe; your 



96 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



physical, biological, and mental 
characteristics. We are about ready 
to leave this island and make the 
world ours. We are the inheritors 
of this earth, and it is fitting that 
we enter our heritage.” 

“What will be the result of 
Bion’s experiments — to us?” I asked 
with a show of boldness. 

“Decomposition, no doubt,” he 
answered indifferently, and became 
absorbed in thought. 

One of the crew, a giant Nor- 
wegian, who had been moaning with 
superstitious terror, went suddenly 
amuck. He sprang toward Lorn 
with strangled cry and outstretched 
hands. The woman with the pro- 
truding lips flung a little capsule. 

It hit him squarely on the fore- 
head and broke. A dark, sticky fluid 
oozed out, ran down his face into 
his nostrils and mouth. 

The effect was instantaneous. He 
staggered in mid-spring and col- 
lapsed. Almost at once his body be- 
gan to swell, his skin turned fever- 
red, and one hideous cry burst from 
his tortured throat. Then he was 
still. 

THE REST of us remained frozen 
in our tracks, horrified at the fate 
of the poor Norwegian. The circle 
of the hundredth generation re- 
mained unmoved, indifferent. The 
woman of the capsule even yawned. 

“Take him away,” said Lorn. 

Only Bion, the dwarf with the 
bulging head, protested. “You have 
spoilt one of my specimens,” he said 
severely. “I have few enough as 
it is.” 

Lorn nodded. “That is true.” He 
turned to the thrower. “Next time. 
Mantis, do not use the bacterial cap- 
sule. Paralysis is sufficient.” 

She yawned again. “I had never 
seen its full effects. I was curious.” 



Musik said suddenly: “Where is 
Una?” 

Lorn frowned. “I am afraid Una 
has not merely the body of a 
primitive, but the characteristics and 
feeble-mindedness of one. She re- 
fused to join us when we set upon 
Spears and his fellow inferiors; she 
has held herself aloof from all our 
plans. Now, in the face of express 
orders, she has disappeared. I am 
of the opinion that the time has 
come to treat her definitely as a 
primitive and eradicate her from our 
circle.” 

Approval rolled around the group, 
the women sounding Somehow, the 
most vehement. Was feminine 
jealously another trait that had sur- 
vived to the hundredth generation? 

But the mention of Una — un- 
doubtedly the golden girl — ^brought 
other and more pressing anxieties to 
me. Where was Bill, my impetuous 
son? I had an awful picture of him 
lying in hypnotic state in the clump 
of palms, to be stumbled on even- 
tually by one of these laboratory 
creatures, or to die of slow rotting 
paralysis. 

Lorn got up. “It is time. Remove 
your specimens, Bion.” 

The dwarf scientist came wad- 
dling up. 

At the sight of him. Captain 
Lawrence, who had held himself im- 
passive, shouted suddenly : “All 

right, boys, let’s die like men — 
fighting.” 

His heavy fist crashed out and 
caught Lorn on the side of his warty 
face. That monstrous mutant went 
down in a heap. The three seamen, 
yelling like madmen, threw them- 
selves desperately into the fray. 
The blood lust surged through me, 
and, as I am rather soft of body and 
shortwinded, I prudently chose Man- 
tis, the woman of the capsule, for my 
adversary. 



AST— 6 



THE 100th GENERATION 



97 



The first surprise carried all be- 
fore it. I caught her hand as she 
was reaching in her tunic for some- 
thing. Four of the men, including 
Bion, went tumbling at the fierce on- 
slaught. 

Then the giantess Hashed a 
weapon. It glinted coldly in the 
light — a long, polished tube. 

Lorn, on the ground, saw it and 
shouted: “Don’t kill them, Juno. 

Musik!” 

Musik side-stepped, and the cords 
over his mouth vibrated. A pierc- 
ing, stabbing note issued. At the 
first sound I felt the deadly paralysis 
creeping through my limbs. I 
struggled desperately, but motion 
had already failed me. We were 
doomed to horrible vivisection, even 
such as I in the past had inflicted 
on rabbits and guinea pigs, and 
thought nothing of. The woman 
was jerking me erect. 

A shot resounded, making crash- 
ing thunder. I saw Musik clamp his 
queer-shaped mouth together, and 
fall headlong. At the same time the 
glow of the walls winked out sud- 
denly, and darkness blanketed every- 
thing. Outside it was already night. 

Then my pulses bounded, as I 
squirmed in unaccustomed wrestling 
with Mantis. I heard my son’s 
voice, and his shouted words were 
in German: 

“Outside, everybody, at once, and 
run like hell!’’ 

Joy brought new vigor to my aged 
limbs, the paralysis had departed 
with Musik’s death, and I broke 
loose with a last violent effort. I 
dashed out of the artificial cavern, 
dim figures panting alongside of 
me. Captain Lawrence had heard 
and understood, too. 

Behind us was noise and con- 
fusion, and the great rough voice of 
Lorn calling for pursuit. We were 
quite a distance from the beached 
AST— 7 



boat, and the vegetation was thick 
and entangling. We could never 
make it. My lungs were bursting, 
and I realized that I was holding 
back the others. 

“Go ahead — without me,” I panted. 

Lawrence seized my arm without 
a word and propelled me forward. 

The next instant the island heaved 
under our feet, and the sky seemed 
to collapse in a blinding concussion 
of sound. I fell into a bottomless 
pit. 

WHEN I managed to struggle out 
of it, I found myself outstretched 
on the little sandy beach, and my 
forehead wet with water. 

“What happened?” I asked feebly. 

Bill was next me, his forehead 
gashed. The golden girl, Una, was 
a warm blur in the starlit night. 
Others were stirring and moaning 
in the shadows. There was an acrid, 
sulphurous odor heavy on the air. 

“Look back,” said my son, and 
grunted to hide his pain. 

I turned with slow, tortured move- 
ments. The cliff that had inclosed 
the cavern was a crumbling ruin ; the 
artificial cave, the cabins, were 
buried forever under thousands of 
tons of rock and debris. 

Later, after mutual first-aid ad- 
ministrations had brought all our 
party around. Bill explained: 

“You see, I had found Una almost 
at the time Musik pulled his 
paralysis tunes. And she, good egg, 
did not turn me in.” 

Even in the darkness I could see 
that glorious golden tint changing 
to a warm pink. 

“I was not one of them,” she said. 
Her voice was grave and quietly 
melodious. “They scorned me, and 
told me I was a primitive. Spears 
explained to me why. He said that 
somehow I was an atavism, a throw- 
back to his own kind. Even as a 



98 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



little girl he liked me more than he 
did the others. He soon grew afraid 
of them, but he refused to leave. 
Said he was a scientist, and this was 
his experiment. So when Bill came, 
I was sorry for him. I felt he was 
my kind, and not Lorn.” 

“And she sure is my kind,” inter- 
posed Bill, a shade too enthu- 
siastically. “She hid me up a cer- 
tain ravine, and we got to talking. 
I heard how Lorn had led the up- 
rising, and killed the doctor, the 
nurse, and the psychologist. Spears 
they kept for a laboratory speci- 
men.” He shuddered. “That poor 
devil went through the tortures of 
hell. Yet, somehow, he managed to 
escape temporarily and left the 
warning note. Then they caught 
him again. He killed himself rather 
than go through more experiments. 

“By the age of twelve this super- 
generation had grown fully adult, 
and, working on the basis of the ele- 
mentary science Spears could teach 
them, they evolved new and strange 
principles. They hollowed the 
cavern with a new type of power, 
burrowed deep into the mountain to 
extract the ores they needed. Spears 
was no fool. Though stubborn and 
unwilling to quit while he still had 
a chance, he must have seen that 
some day a crisis might be reached. 



So, secretly and unknown to all 
except Una, whom he trusted, he 
imported for the past five years, 
quantities of high-powered ex- 
plosives ” 

Captain Lawrence started. “That 
is right. Every supply memo called 
for dynamite and TNT. I used to 
wonder.” 

“He stored it in one of the pas- 
sageways,” Bill continued, “against 
the day. But they caught him flat- 
footed. Before he killed himself, he 
managed to whisper the secret to 
Una. She kept it to herself, know- 
ing that she was a pariah, hugging 
it as a final measure. She showed 
me the entrance from the top of the 
ravine.” 

“Why,” I asked, “did you yell in 
German for us to run?” 

“I was positive Spears hadn’t 
taken the trouble to teach them for- 
eign languages.” 

Lawrence and his men had already 
floated the boat. 

“We’re ready, sir. The men on 
the Mary will be pretty anxious.” 

I paused at the gunwale to glance 
back at the mountain of debris. 
Underneath lay the mortal remains 
of the hundredth generation, Spears’ 
tremendous experiment in eugenics. 

I stepped into the boat. “Shove 
off, captain,” I said. 



Next Month*8 Thought-variant will be: 

SIDEWISE IN TIME 

by Murray Leinster 

It is a startlingly new line of reasoning 
on the subjeet of time. 



Part Two 




Legion 
Space 

Illustrated by 
Howard V. Brown 



They lay on top of the ship 
for hours, motionless, tor- 
tured by the sun. 

by Jack 

Williamson 



UP TO NOW: 



In the thirtieth century, John 
Star — then John Ulnar — receives his 
commission in the legion of space, 
with orders to join the guard of 
Aladoree Anthar, a lovely, mysteri- 
ous girl, keeper of AKKA — the se- 
cret weapon of humanity, so terrific 
that its plans are intrusted to only 
one person in the system. 

Under the command of Captain 
Eric Ulnar, a distant kinsman and 
hero of an expedition to the weird 
star Yarkand, he is sent to a strange 



old fortress on Mars, where the girl 
is hidden. For two hundred years, 
she tells him, AKKA has protected 
human liberty and peace, under the 
democratic Green Hall Council, 
from the plots of the "Purples,” who 
wish to restore the empire, place 
the despotic family of Ulnar on the 
throne. Eric Ulnar, she says, is the 





100 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



heir, scheming to dispose of her and 
her weapon, to clear his way to 
power. 

But John Star is unable to believe 
her. When the old captain of the 
fort is mysteriously murdered, be 
obeys Eric Ulnar’s order to arrest 
and lock up the three remaining 
loyal men of the old guard. Jay 
Kalam, Hal Samdu, and Giles Habi- 
bula, 

A strange, titanic space Sier has 
landed near, and Eric Ulnar slips 
away to go to it. Following, John 
Star demands an explanation. Eric 
Ulnar insolently confesses that be 
is a traitor, that he is planning to 
abduct Aladoree to deprive the 
Green Hall of her weapon. The 
ship, he says, is from Yarkand; be 
brought back as allies the monstrous 
beings be found there to help him 
seize the throne. 

From the ship a strange weapon 
wounds John Star; and the vessel 
departs while he is helpless, taking 
Eric Ulnar with the captured girl 
and the priceless secret of her 
weapon. He has betrayed the Green 
Hall and the legion of space! 

John Star is faced with disgrace 
— and the system with disaster — 
unless he can recover the kidnaped 
girl. 

VI. 

A h, lad, it’s time you thought 
of us!” wheezed Giles Habi- 
^ bula plaintively from the 
darkness behind the bars of the old 
prison. 

John Star was unlocking the rusty 
door. Here was one thing, at least, 
that he could do to repair the trai- 
torous work of his kinsman — though 
the greater thing, the rescue of Ala- 
doree and her secret, was all but 
hopeless. 

“Can you bring us some broth?” 
the complaining voice went on. 



“And a bottle of the old wine from 
the cellar? Something to revive us 
and give us strength for stronger 
victuals?” 

“I’m going to turn you out,” said 
John Starr. Then he added bit- 
terly: “That much I can do to make 
up for the fool I’ve been!” 

“You must help us creep out and 
up to the blessed sun. Don’t for- 
get we’re mortal weak. Ah, me, 
we’re starving! Not a bite to eat 
since the day you locked us up. 
NoL a blessed morsel for all that 
mortal time. Though I cut off the 
uppers of my boots and chewed 
them for the bit of nourishment in 
the leather.” 

“Ate your boots? Why, it was 
just this morning that I brought you 
here !” 

“Don’t jest with old Giles Habi- 
bula! Don’t be so heartless, when 
he’s had nothing but his blessed 
boots to eat, rotting in a dungeon 
for mortal weeks.” 

“Weeks? It wasn’t ten hours ago ! 
And I let you eat all that breakfast 
in your room, just before — enough 
to provision a fleet!” 

“Don’t torture me with your 
jokes, lad! I’m starved to a blessed 
bag of bones.” 

The rusty bolt at last shot back, 
the door creaked open. Giles Habi- 
bula rushed out, Hal Samdu behind 
him, and Jay Kalam, vralking de- 
liberately. 

“We are free?” asked the latter. 

“Yes. The least I can do. I’ve 
been a fool, an utter idiot ! I’ll never 
be able to undo the crime I helped 
Eric Ulnar carry out, though I’m 
going to spend the rest of my life 
trying to!” 

“What has happened?” Jay Ka- 
lam’s low voice was anxious. 

“Eric Ulnar was a traitor, as Ala- 
doree thought. After I had locked 
up you three, he had the way clear. 



THE LEGION OF SPACE 



101 



The ship — the one that landed last 
night — came from Yarkand. Mon- 
strous creatures aboard, allies of 
Eric’s — it was one of them that mur- 
dered Captain Otan. He’s giving 
them a shipload of iron, to pay for 
their part. It’s precious to them. 
The ship took Eric away and Ala- 
doree. I was — hit. Can just now 
walk again.” 

“It’s the Purples?” 

“Yes; as Aladoree thought. The 
plot is to restore the empire, with 
Eric on the throne.” 

They entered the courtyard, 
bright with the afternoon sun. Giles 
Habibula stood with his thick hands 
stretched out in front of him, star- 
ing at them in amazement. He fin- 
gered his heavy-jowled face, 
slapped his bulging paunch. 

“For lifer's sake,” he gasped, “tell 
me, was that no joke? Is this the 
same mortal day? All that suffer- 
ing! My boots!” 

“Forget your belly, Giles!” 
shouted Hal Samdu, the giant, and 
turned to John Star with helpless 
anger on his broad red face. 

“That Eric Ulnar ” he panted, 

incoherent in his rage. “Aladoree — 
he has taken her, you say?” 

“Yes. I don’t know where.” 
“We’ll find out where!” he prom- 
ised savagely. “And bring her back. 

And Eric Ulnar ” 

“Of course!” It was the low, 
calm voice of Jay Kalam. “Of 
course we shall attempt her rescue. 
At any risk. The safety of the sys- 
tem demands it, if it were not our 
simple duty to Aladoree. The first 
thing, I suppose, is to find out where 
she is. And that may not be easy.” 
“We must find a means of getting 
away from here,” added John Star. 
“I suppose there’s some way of com- 
munication?” 

“Yes. A little ultra-wave radio 
transmitter, installed for emergen- 



cies. We must report to legion 
headquarters, at once.” 

John Star winced, said bitterly: 
“Yes, of course. Report what a fool 
I was! How Eric Ulnar duped me!” 
“Don’t blame yourself,” Jay Ka- 
lam urged him. “Others, higher up, 
were deceived, too, or he wouldn’t 
have been sent here. Don’t blame 
yourself — you could have done noth- 
ing alone. Your only guilt was 
obedience to your officer. Forget 
your regrets. And let’s undo the 
harm that’s been done!” 

“Of course that’s the thing. But 

I can’t help feeling ” 

“Come on! We’ll send a message 
to the base — if they didn’t smash 
the transmitter before they left.” 

JAY KALAM’S apprehension was 
realized. The little transmitter, 
placed in a small tower room, had 
been systematically and utterly 
destroyed — tubes smashed, conden- 
sers hammered to shapeless metal, 
coil wires cut to bits, battery jars 
emptied and broken. 

“Ruined!” he said. 

“We must repair it!” cried John 
Star. 

But with all his optimistic deter- 
mination, he soon had to admit the 
impossibility of the task. 

“Can’t be done. But there must 
be something. The supply ship?” 
“Won’t be back for a year,” said 
Jay Kalam. “They came seldom, to 
avoid attracting attention.” 

“But when the station here re- 
mains silent, won’t they know some- 
thing is wrong?” 

“It was only for emergencies. We 
had never used it. The signals 
would have been picked up, the sta- 
tion located. We depended on abso- 
lute secrecy.” 

“Could a man walk out?” 
“Impossible! No water in the des- 
ert. 'This is the most isolated spot 



102 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



on Mars. We wanted no accidental 
visitors.” 

“But there must be something 
we can ” 

“We must eat,” insisted Giles 
Habibula. “Even if it is the same 
mortal day. Nothing like good food 
to quicken the mind. A good sup- 
per with a bottle of the old wine 
to wash it down, and you’ll have us 
away from here this blessed night.” 

And, indeed, it was while John 
Star sipped a glass from the old 
man’s precious cellar that inspira- 
tion came. 

“We’ve light tubes!” he cried. 
“We can step up the output — 
doesn’t matter if they soon burn out. 
Flash a distress signal. Against the 
dark background of the desert, 
somebody would see it from space.” 

“We’ll try that,” agreed Jay 
Kalam. “Might not be a legion 
cruiser. But it would have a trans- 
mitter to call one.” 

“Ah, what did I tell you? What 
did mortal old Giles Habibula tell 
you? Didn’t a drop of wine sharpen 
your brain like anything?” 

When the cold, clear darkness of 
the Martian night crashed down on 
the red landscape, John Star was 
ready on the platform of the north 
tower, his pocket light tube in hand, 
its coils rewound to increase its 
brilliance a thousandfold. 

Into the purple, star-shot night 
he flashed it, forming again and 
again the cade letters of the legion 
signal of distress. The overloaded 
electrodes fused in a few minutes, 
burned out. But Jay Kalam was 
ready with another tube, with its 
potential stepped up in the same 
way; he kept flashing the silent ap- 
peal for aid. 

It was incredible to John Star, as 
he stood there, that Aladoree had 
been with him that morning; on the 
same platform. Incredible, when 



now she was lost somewhere in the 
black gulf of space, perhaps ten mil- 
lion miles away. With a little ache 
in his heart, he remembered how she 
had looked — slender and straight 
and cleanly molded; eyes candid 
and cool and gray; sunlit hair work- 
ing miracles in brown and red and 
gold. 

His determination to restore her 
to safety could hardly be less, he 
knew, were she just an ordinary bit 
of humanity, not the keeper of the 
system’s most priceless treasure. 

It was long after midnight when 
the last light tube went out. 

Then, until dawn, they waited on 
the platform, scanning the star- 
pricked sky, anxious for the blue 
rocket-exhausts that would brake 
the descending ship. But they saw 
no moving thing, save the faint tiny 
sparks of the moons of Mars, the 
hurtling inner one crossing the sky 
backward, from west to east, twice 
during the night. 

Giles Habibula was with them, not 
watching, but lying on his back, 
peacefully snoring. He woke with 
the dawn and went down to the 
kitchen. Presently he called up that 
breakfast was ready, and the others 
were about to leave the tower in 
despair, when they heard the roar- 
ing rockets of a ship landing. 

A long silver craft, an arrow of 
white flame in the morning sun, it 
dropped across the fort, pushing 
ahead the blue flare of its rockets. 

“A legion cruiser!” John Star 
exulted. “The latest, fastest type.” 

His blue eyes keener than they 
appeared, Hal Samdu read the name 
on its side: 

“Purple — something — she’s the 
Purple Dream!” 

‘‘Purple Dream?” echoed Jay 
Kalam. “That’s the flagship of the 
legion fleet; the ship of the com- 
mander himself!” 



THE LEGION OF SPACE 



103 



“If it’s the commander’s ship,” 
John Star said slowly, his high 
spirits falling, “I’m afraid it won’t 
bring us much good. Commander 
Adam Ulnar is Eric Ulnar’s uncle. 
The real leader of the Purples. 

“It was Adam Ulnar who sent 
Eric to Yarkand; Adam Ulnar who 
found Aladoree was hidden here, 
and sent Eric to be captain of her 
guard. I’m afraid we can’t expect 
much but trouble from the com- 
mander of the legion.” 

VII, 

THE FOUR went out of the old 
gate, Giles Habibula still eating 
morsels he had stuffed into his 
pockets, and down the boulder- 
strewn slope to the Purple Dream, 
lying amid the yellow dunes of the 
sand desert. 

Her officer, a man too old for his 
rank, thin, stern, with a jaw like a 
trap, looked down at them from the 
open air lock. 

“You flashed a signal of distress?” 

“We did,” said John Star. 

“What’s your difficulty?” 

“We must leave here. We have 
an urgent matter 'to report to the 
Green Hall.” 

“What’s that?” 

“It’s confidential.” 

“Confidential?” the officer re- 
peated, looking down with frosty 
eyes. 

“Very!” 

“Come aboard, then, to my state- 
room.” 

They climbed the accommodation 
ladder, followed him through the 
great valves, down the narrow deck 
into his cabin. He closed the door 
and said: 

“You need keep nothing back 
from me. I’m M'adlok, Commander 
Ulnar’s first officer and completely 
in his confidence. I know that you 



men were stationed here to guard 
the most valuable possession of the 
human race. What account have 
you to make of it?” 

“You mean ” 

“I mean AKKA!” snapped the 
officer. 

“It is lost,” said John Star. “A 
traitor was sent here ” 

“Lost? You have betrayed your 
trust?” 

“It is gone. It must be recovered. 
And the news of its loss must be 
communicated at once to the Grden 
Hall.” 

“I shall take care of any reports. 
The four of you were merely sub- 
ordinates, I assume. I shall take 
you to headquarters to account for 
your failure.” 

“The search must begin at once,” 
said John Star urgently. 

“I’m not accepting orders from 
you, sir, if you please. And I shall 
take the four of you at once to Com- 
mander Ulnar, at his estate on the 
outer moon.” 

“May I go back, sir, just a few 
minutes?” appealed Giles Habibula. 
“Some things I must bring ” 

“What things?” 

“Just a few mortal cases of old 
wine, sir.” 

“What! Wine! We’re taking off 
at once.” 

“If you will pardon me, sir,” 
gravely offered Jay Kalam, “we 
were not under your command.” 

“Your signals were seen from 
Commander Ulnar’s private obser- 
vatory, on Phobos,” snapped Mad- 
lok. “Inferring — quite rightly — 
that you had betrayed your trust 
and lost AKKA, he sent me to bring 
you to the Purple Hall. I trust that 
you will condescend to obey the 
commander of the legion. We take 
off in twenty seconds!” 

John Star had heard of the Ulnar 
estate on Phobos; the magnificent 



104 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



splendor of the Purple Hall was fa- 
mous throughout the system. 

The tiny outer moon of Mars, 
only some ten miles in diameter, 
had always been held by the Ulnars, 
by right of reclamation. Equipping 
the barren, stony mass with an arti- 
ficial gravity system, synthetic at- 
mosphere, and “seas” of man-made 
water, planting forests and gardens 
in soil manufactured from chemicals 
and disintegrated stone, the plane- 
tary engineers had transformed it 
into a tiny paradise. 

For his residence, Adam Ulnar 
had obtained the architects’ plans 
for the Green Hall, the system’s 
colossal capitol building, and dupli- 
cated it room for room, but on a 
scale an inch larger to the foot, and 
not in green glass, but in purple, 
the color of the empire. 

The Purple Dream dropped upon 
the landing stage atop the square, 
titanic tower. Beyond the edge of 
the platform, when they disem- 
barked, John Star could see the 
roofs of the building’s great wings, 
glistening expanses of purple 
stretching out across vividly green 
lawns and gardens. Farther, the 
surface of the tiny planet, massed 
with dark, luxuriant verdure, 
seemed to curve down with increas- 
ing abruptness against the star- 
pierced purple-blue of the thin air, 
so that he felt as if he were perched 
insecurely On the top of a great 
green ball. 

They dropped in an elevator three 
thousand feet, escorted by Madlok 
and half a dozen men from the 
cruiser, and entered an amazing 
room. 

Corresponding to the Green Hall’s 
council chamber, it was five hundred 
feet square, arched with a huge 
dome, and columned walls illumi- 
nated with colored lights to secure 



effects of indescribable vastness and 
splendor. 

In the center of the floor, occupy- 
ing a space relatively small, were a 
thousand seats, corresponding to the 
seats of the Council of the Green 
Hall — all empty. Above them, on a 
high dais, stood a magnificent gem- 
canopied throne of purple crystal — 
vacant. On its seat lay the old 
crown and scepter of the emperors. 

They marched, astonished and 
awed, across the vast floor, under 
the whispering vault, around the 
dais. Behind the throne they en- 
tered a small room, beyond a 
guarded door. There Adam Ulnar, 
commander of the legion of space, 
master of all this splendor and the 
immense wealth and power it repre- 
sented, was sitting at a simple table. 

THOUGH twice Eric Ulnar’s age 
and almost twice his weight, Adam 
Ulnar was as handsome as his 
nephew. Square-shouldered, erect, he 
wore a plain military uniform. The 
calm strength of his face— nose 
prominent; mouth firm; blue eyes 
deep-set, wide apart, steady — con- 
trasted with Eric’s weak and pas- 
sionate countenance. His long hair, 
nearly white, lent him the look of 
distinction that Eric had from his 
flowing yellow locks. 

John Star, to his surprise, felt an 
immediate instinctive admiration 
for this man of his own blood, about 
whose vast wealth and influential 
power he had heard so much. He 
understood how a man of such 
powerful and persuasive personality 
could inspire enthusiasm for the 
cause he represented. 

“The men, commander,” Madlok 
reported briefly, “who lost AKKA.” 

Adam Ulnar looked at them with- 
out surprise, a faint smile on his dis- 
tinguished face. 

“So you were the guard of Ala- 



THE LEGION OF SPACE 



105 



doree Anthar?” he said, his voice 
well-modulated, pleasant, “Yoiu: 
names ?” 

John Star named his companions. 
“And I am John Ulnar.” 

The commander smiled again, 
stood up behind the table. “John 
Ulnar? A kinsman of mine, I be- 
lieve?” 

“So I understand.” 

He stood still, coldly unsmiling. 
Adam Ulnar came around the ta- 
ble to greet him, warmly courteous. 
“I’ll see you alone, John,” he said, 
and nodded to Madlok, who with- 
drew with the others. 

Then he turned to John Star, 
urged cordially: “Sit down, John. 

I wish now that we had met sooner, 
and in less strained circumstances.” 
And he added, smiling: “You made 
a- brilliant record at the academy, 
John. And I’ve a career planned 
for you, equally brilliant.” 

John Star, remaining on his feet, 
his face a little grim, said: “I sup- 
pose I should thank you, Com- 
mander Ulnar, for my education and 
my commission in the legion. A few 
days ago I should have done so 
very gratefully. But it seems that 
I was intended merely for a dupe 
and a tool.” 

“I wouldn’t say that, John,” pro- 
tested Adam Ulnar, “It’s true that 
events did not take place just as I 
had planned — Eric is taking affairs 
too much into his own hands. But 
I had you placed under his direct 

command. I was planning ” 

- “Under Eric!” John Star burst 
out hotly, “A traitor! Much as I 
admired him, that’s what he is! 
Obeying his orders, I helped betray 
the legion and the Green Hall.” 
“Traitor is a harsh word to use, 
John, just because of a political dif- 
ference.” 

“Just a political difference! Do 
you admit to me openly that you are 



false to your own trust as an officer 
of the legion? You, the commander 
himself!” 

Adam Ulnar smiled at him, 
warmly, kindly, a little bit amused. 
“Do you realize, John, that I am 
by far the most wealthy man in the 
system? That I am easily the most 
powerful and infiuential? Doesn’t 
it occur to you that loyalty to the 
Purple Hall might be more to your 
advantage than support of the 
democracy?” 

“Are you trying, sir, to make a 
traitor out of me?" 

“Please, John, don’t use that 
word. The form of government I 
stand for has a sanction far older 
than your silly ideas of equality and 
democracy. And, after all, John, 
you are an Ulnar. If you will con- 
sider just your own personal ad- 
vantage, I can give you wealth, posi- 
tion, and power, that you will never 
attain with your present impractical 
attitude.” 

“Then I will not consider it.” 

John Star was still standing stiffly 
in front of the table. Adaih Ulnar 
came around beside him, took his 
arm persuasively. 

“John,” he said, “I like you. Even 
when you were very small — I sup- 
pose you don’t remember when we 
were ever together — you displayed 
qualities that I liked. Your cour- 
age, that stubborn determination 
that is about to keep us apart now, 
was one of them — something left 
out of my nephew’s disposition. 

“I had no son of my own. And 
the family of Ulnar isn’t very large 
— just Eric, the son of my unfortu- 
nate elder brother, and you and I. 
Eric is twelve years older than you 
are, John. He was rather pampered 
in his youth. He was always told 
that one day he would be emperor 
of the Sun; he was given attention, 
waited on. 



106 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



“And I don’t like the results alto- 
gether. Eric is weak, headstrong, 
and yet a coward. This alliance 
with the creatures of Yarkand was 
a cowardly thing — he made it 
against my advice, because he feared 
my own plans for the revolution 
would fail. 

“Anyhow, with you I tried a dif- 
ferent plan. I put you in the acad- 
emy, left you ignorant of what your 
destiny might be. I wanted you to 
learn to depend on yourself, to de- 
velop some character and resource 
of your own. 

“This last experience has been a 
sort of test, John. And it has 
proved, I think, that you have the 
courage and independence I had 
hoped for. I like you for those 
things.” 

“Yes?” said John Star coldly, and 
waited. 

“The empire is going to be re- 
stored. Nothing can halt our plans 
now. The Green Hall is doomed. 
But I don’t want to set a weakling 
back on the throne. Ulnar is an old 
name, a proud name. We don’t 
want it disgraced, as a weakling 
might disgrace it.” 

“You mean ” cried John Star, 

astounded. “By all this, you mean 
that I ” 

“That’s it, my boy !” Adam Ulnar 
was smiling at him with pleasure on 
his face, pride, and hope. “That’s 
it. It is not Eric who shall be em- 
peror of the Sun, when the Green 
Hall surrenders. It shall be you!” 

John Star stood motionless, look- 
ing into his pleased, smiling face, 
and he added: 

“Yes, you shall be emperor, John. 
Your claim is really better than 
Eric’s or mine. You are in the di- 
rect line of descent. I have proof.” 

John Star shook off his hand, then 
moved back a little, laughed. 



“What’s the matter?” he asked, 
suddenly anxious. “You don’t ” 

“No!” he exclaimed. “I don’t 
want to be emperor. If I were em- 
peror, I should abdicate, restore the 
Green Hall.” 

Adam Ulnar went slowly back be- 
hind the table and sat down heavily, 
wearily. A long time he sat silently, 
watching John Star’s tense, deter- 
mined figure with thoughtful eyes. 

“I see,” he said at last. “You 
meant that. Your education has had 
a result I hadn’t foreseen. I sup- 
pose it’s too late to change you 
now.” 

“I’m sure it is.” 

Again Adam Ulnar mused a while, 
and then stood up suddenly, his face 
hard with decision. “I hope you 
understand the situation, John. 
Our plans are going ahead. If you 
won’t be emperor, Eric will. Per- 
haps, with my advice Anyhow, 

the Green Hall is doomed. And I 
suppose with your attitude, you 
will remain against us?” 

“I will!” John Star promised 
warmly. “I hope for nothing more 
than a chance to defeat your plot.” 

Adam Ulnar nodded; for an in- 
stant he almost smiled. “I knew you 
would. And that means — I’ll be as 
honest with you as you are with me 
— ^that means that you must spend 
your life in prison. Unless it be- 
comes necessary to kill you. I have 
too much confidence in your ability 
and your determination to set you 
at liberty.” 

“Thank you,” said John Star, smil- 
ing grimly. 

Adam Ulnar came to him again, 
his face a little softer. “Good-by, 
John. I’m sorry we must part this 
way.” 

He laid his hand a moment on 
John Star’s shoulder, was suddenly 
concerned at his involuntary shud- 



THE LEGION OF SPACE 



107 



der of pain. “You’ve been hurt, 
John?” 

“Some weapon from the black 
ship. It made a greenish burn.” 

“Oh, the red gas!” He was sud- 
denly very grave. “Open your tunic 
and let me see. No, it isn’t very 
serious — not yet. But the red gas 
has fearful effects — ^bodily decom- 
position, insanity. Those men, ex- 
posed to it on the planet of Yark- 
and. Fortunate I discovered it — 
I’ll have you jgiven immediate treat- 
ment, with the formula we’ve 
worked out. I think we’re in time.” 

“Thank you,” said John Star, less 
stiffly. 

“I’m sorry, my boy, that I’ll never 
be able to do more for you. Sorry 
that you choose to go to prison from 
the hospital — not to the empty 
throne in the Purple Hall.” 

VIII. 

IN A ROOM in the hospital in 
the south wing of the colossal Pur- 
ple Hall, a grimly capable^ tight- 
mouthed doctor washed John Star’s 
injury with a blue, palely lumines- 
cent solution, covered it with a 
thick salve, bound it and made him 
go to bed. Two days later the old 
skin began to peel off in hard, 
greenish flakes, and new, healthy 
flesh showed under it. 

“Good!” said the laconic physi- 
cian, bending to examine him. “Not 
even a scar. You’re lucky.” 

John Star practiced one of the 
wrestling holds he had learned in 
the academy. He hastened out into 
the corridor in the doctor’s cloth- 
ing, leaving him bound, gagged, un- 
hurt. 

Four men in legion uniform met 
him at the door, armed, unsurprised, 
courteous. 

“This way, please, John Ulnar, if 
you are ready to go to the prison.” 



John Star smiled grimly, nodded. 

The prison was a huge, lofty 
square room under the north wing 
of the Purple Hall. Its walls were 
of white metal, sanitary, impreg- 
nable. It had triple doors, massive, 
sliding slabs of metal, with guards 
in the short halls between. The 
mechanism permitted only one door 
to open at a time, so two always 
sealed the opening. 

The cell block stood in the center 
of the great room, a double tier of 
big, barred cages, reaching halfway 
to the ceiling, each with bunk and 
other facilities for one occupant, 
partitions of sheet metal separating 
them. The single guard who re- 
mained in the room paced steadily 
around it. 

John Star, locked in alone, threw 
himself hopelessly on the bunk. He 
had set his heart on escape. 

But escape presented heartbreak- 
ing difficulties. To leave the locked 
cell; evade the sentry outside — who 
carried only a club, lest some pris- 
soner snatch his weapon; pass the 
triple doors, with guards between; 
to get through the endless, labyrin- 
thine corridors of the Purple Hall, 
a veritable fortress; finally to leave 
the tiny planet, which was virtually 
a private empire of Adam Ulnar, 
policed by his loyal followers — it all 
seemed utterly impossible. 

He heard a wheedling voice from 
the next cell: 

“Ah, have you no heart, man? 
We’ve been locked in this mortal 
place a blessed time, on bread and 
water, on precious little more. Is 
your heart of stone, man? Surely 
you can bring us something more 
for supper. Just a morsel, to give 
us an appetite for the prison fare.” 

“To give you an appetite, you bag 
of tallow?” retorted the sentry 
good-naturedly, walking past. “You 
eat more now than seven men.” 



108 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



“Ah, come, man, and bring me a 
bottle of wine. Just one blessed 
bottle. It’ll help me forget the 
court-martial that’s coming, and the 
lethal chamber beyond it.” 

“Enough! Keep quiet! I bring 
you all I can. Six bottles you’ve 
had already to-day! No more, the 
warden said. At that, I never knew 
such generosity. It’s only by the 
special order of the commander him- 
self that you get a drop. And no 
more talking, now! That’s regula- 
tions.” 

John Star was glad to hear again 
of his companions, though it was no 
good news that they were waiting 
for court-martial and sentence. 
Adam Ulnar would be ruthless in 
eliminating such men as these, 
whose unfaltering loyalty to the 
Green Hall opposed his plots. 

He was lying on the bunk when he 
heard a low, cautious tapping on the 
metal partition by his head, and he 
sprang abruptly from his apathy of 
despair when he realized it was 
forming letters in the legion code: 
“W-H-0?” 

Quickly, cautiously, he replied: 
“J U-L-N-A-R.” 

“J K-A-L-A-M.” 

He waited for the sentry to pass 
again, tapped: “E-S-C-A-P-E?” 
“C-H-A-N-C-E.” 

“H-O-W?” 

“G-U-A-R-D-S C-L-U-B.” 

For the most of a day and night 
John Star watched that club, as it 
passed at regular intervals in front 
of his cell bars; a simple, eighteen- 
inch stick of wood, grip taped, slen- 
der part above wrapped with green- 
enameled wire, for reenforcement. 
He did not see how it could be very 
useful, but evidently it was the be- 
ginning of the plan of escape con- 
ceived by Jay Kalam’s deliberate, 
analytic mind. 

Each guard was locked in the big 



room with them for four hours at a 
time, pacing around the cell block, 
reporting through a speaking tube 
at fifteen-minute intervals. 

Their habits differed. The first, 
good-natured man carried the club 
safely in his farther hand. The 
next walked a precise, cautious beat, 
well out of reach. The third wqp 
not so careful, swinging the club by 
a leather thong, sometimes from one 
wrist, sometimes the other. He must 
swing it sometime, John Star 
thought, within a foot of the bars. 
He . waited, unobtrusively alert, 
until the guard was changed again. 
And his chance had not come. 

Again the good-natured man. 
Then the precise, cautious man. 

Then, again, the one who swung 
the club. John Star waited an hour, 
alert without seeming to be — and 
the chance did come. 

EVERY MINUTEST motion 
John Star had planned, rehearsed in 
his mind. He was keyed up, ready; 
his trained body worked with light- 
ning quickness. He sprang, sound- 
lessly, when the club began its 
swing. His arm slipped through the 
bars. His straining fingers snapped 
around the wood. He braced knee 
and shoulder against the bars, 
jerked. 

It was all done before the guard 
had turned his head. 

The leathern thong on his wrist 
jerked him against the cell; his 
skull struck the bars ; he went down 
silently. 

John Star slipped the thong over 
his limp hand, whispered: “Jay! I 
have the club!” 

“I hoped you might,” said Jay 
Kalam quietly, quickly, from the 
next cell. “If you will please hold 
it out to Giles ” 

“Outside here, lad! Quick, for 
life’s sake!” 



THE LEGION OF SPACE 



109 




The ship slid down to the landing stage that reared high above 

the tiny globe. 



110 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



He thrust the club back through 
the bars, felt Giles Habibula’s fin- 
gers grasp it. 

“Shall I search him?” he whis- 
pered. “His keys ” 

“He had none,” said Jay Kalam. 
“For fear this would happen. We 
must depend on Giles.” 

“My father was an inventor of 
locks,” wheezed the voice from the 
other cell, absent, preoccupied. “I 
learned a higher calling. Giles 
Habibula was not always a crippled 
old soldier in the legion. In his 

nimbler days ” 

The voice drifted away. John 
Star restrained his curiosity, waited. 
Giles Habibula was busy in the next 
cell. His breath became audible, 
panting. He muttered, sometimes: 
“Mortal minutes! This wire! 
Life’s precious sake! Ah, old 
Giles ” 

“Hurry, Giles!” implored Hal 
Samdu, from the cell beyond. 
“Hurry!” 

There were tiny, metallic sounds. 
“We’ve five minutes yet,” said Jay 
Kalam, voice calm and low. “Then 
the guard’s report is due. When 

they don’t hear him ” 

The sentry groaned, then; moved. 
John Star silently restored him to 
unconsciousness with a scientific 
trick he had learned at the academy, 
a pressure on certain nerves. 

His door, a moment later, swung 
open. He stepped out, beside sweat- 
ing, panting Giles Habibula, who 
was already busy at the lock of the 
next cell, with a little twisted bit 
of green wire — the wire, he recog- 
nized, with which the club had been 
reenforced — his thick hands oddly 
sure and steady. 

“Wasn’t always a lame, useless 
old soldier in the legion,” he 
wheezed abstractedly. “When old 
Giles was young — until an unfortu- 



nate affair on Venus, before he 
joined the mortal legion ” 

The door opened, let out Jay Ka- 
lam; the next gave freedom to gi- 
gantic Hal Samdu. 

“Now what?” inquired John Star, 

They had perhaps four minutes 
in the huge room before the inevita- 
ble discovery, when the guard failed 
to report. It was massively metal- 
walled, windowless; its one door 
closed by three huge valves, armed 
men between them. 

“Up!” said Jay Kalam quietly, as 
he ever spoke. “On top of the 
cells.” 

John Star leaped up the bars; the 
others followed, Giles Habibula 
puffing, hauled by John Star from 
above, pushed by Hal Samdu be- 
neath. They were on the metal net 
that covered the second tier of cells, 
the white ceiling still fifteen feet 
above. 

“Now!” whispered Jay Kalam. 
“The ventilator.” 

He pointed to the heavy metal 
grating in the ceiling above, from 
which a cool draft struck them. 

“Your part, Hal ! If ever you 
used your strength ” 

“Lift me!” cried the giant, his 
hands ready. 

They lifted him. 

Puffing Giles Habibula and Jay 
Kalam stood on the netting, John 
Star, lightest of the four, on their 
shoulders, while the gigantic Hal 
Samdu stood upon his. 

The ventilator grille was strong, 
though it had been put where men 
were not likely to reach it. Hal 
Samdu’s immense hands closed 
about its bars; he strained; John 
Star heard mighty muscles cracking. 
His breath came in short, laboring 
gasps. 

“I can’t ” he sobbed. “This 



THE LEGION OF SPACE 



111 



"We’ve one minute longer, per- 
haps,” said Jay Kalam. 

The giant lifted himself from 
John Star’s shoulders, doubled his 
body, planting one foot on each side 
of the grating, hanging by his arms. 

“Catch him!” cried John Star. 

Hal Samdu straightened, with his 
feet on the ceiling. Strained metal 
snapped. He fell down, headfore- 
most, fifteen feet, the grate torn out 
in his hands. The tube yawned 
black, above, a cold stream of air 
pouring out of it. 

The three caught him in their 
arms. 

A whirring from the door of the 
great room! The mechanism was 
opening the inner valve. In seconds 
the armed guard would appear to in- 
vestigate the silence of the speak- 
ing tube. 

“You first, John,” said Jay Kalam. 
“The lightest. Help us.” 

They lifted him to the opening. 
He hung his knees over the edge, 
swung down his body, hands reach- 
ing. 

Giles Habibula came first, puffing, 
hoisted from beneath. Then Hal 
Samdu, who lowered John Star, a 
living rope, so that Jay Kalam 
could catch his hands. 

“Halt!” rang the order from the 
opening door. “Or we fire to kill!” 

They scrambled into the narrow 
horizontal tunnel of the ventilator 
tube. Another order barked. The 
blast of a proton gun lighted the 
dark tube with brief, intense violet, 
spattered fused metal behind them, 
reached them all with numbing elec- 
tric shocks. 

They tumbled ahead into cramped 
black spaces. 

IX. 

THE PASSAGE they had en- 
tered was horizontal, metal-walled, 
square, not three feet high, and — as 



Giles Habibula put it — “dark as the 
gut of a mortal whale.” 

They scrambled along it on all 
fours, bruising limbs and heads in 
their haste upon rivets and interior 
braces. Giles Habibula was crawl- 
ing ahead, then Jay Kalam, Hal 
Samdu, and John Star behind. 

The guards must have delayed to 
find a ladder — such an escape into 
the ventilation system was appar- 
ently unexpected and disconcerting 
— for at first there was no sound of 
pursuit. They dragged themselves 
through silent darkness, the strong 
wind from the fans rushing about 
them, Giles Habibula puffing like an 
engine. 

“If it branches,” gasped Jay Ka- 
lam, “we must turn against the air 
current. That will guide us toward 
the fans, keep us out of the small 
dividing passages. We must get 
past the fans, through the intake. 
If we get lost, they’ll have us 

trapped like rats ” 

He stopped. The wind against 
their faces had abruptly ceased. 

“They’ve shut off the fans,” he 
said, “We haven’t even the air to 
guide us.” 

“I hear voices,” John Star whis- 
pered. “Behind us — following.” 
“My life’s sake!” wheezed Giles 
Habibula, a little later. “A mortal 
wall ! I bumped my old head 
into it.” 

“Go on!” said Jay Kalam, behind 
him, quietly urgent. “Feel about. 
There must be a way.” 

“My blessed head ! Ah, yes, there 
is a way. Two ways. ’Tis another 
passage we’re entering. Right or 
left?” 

“A blind chance, since they 
stopped the fans. Say, right!” 
They hastened on for another 
while on hands and bruised knees. 

A gasp from Giles Habibula. “My 
mortal life! A blessed pit! I half 



112 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



fell into it. For life’s sake, don’t 
push so ! I’m sprawling on the 
edge !” 

“The shaft turning down, it must . 
be,” said Jay Kalam. “We turned 
wrong, I’m afraid — the intake 
should be above. But it’s too late 
to turn back. Feel about. There 
should be rungs — a ladder. If the 
shafts should need to be cleaned, or 
repaired ” 

“Ah, yes, right you are. Jay. I 
find them — precious flimsy they 
seem, for such a man as I. Ah, Jay, 

I should have stayed back in the 
cells, let them torture me and starve 
me and beat my blessed old body as 
they would, court-martial me and 
seal me in their precious lethal 
chamber. Old Giles Habibula is too 
old, Jay, and too lame, to be run- 
ning through blessed rat holes on 
his knees, and dancing up and down 
flimsy little ladders in the dark, like 
a mortal monkey!” 

Yet he had slipped over the edge 
in a moment, was tumbling down the 
dark ladder, the others behind him, 
punctuating his phrases with the 
gasps of his panting breath. 

“A floor!” he wheezed presently. 
“Ah, it’s all up now, I’m mortal 
afraid. I’ve struck bottom. No way 
out but tiny pipes a mortal mouse 
couldn’t creep through.” 

They explored the walls about 
them with anxious fingers, found no 
branching passage large enough for 
a man to enter. 

“We should have turned left, back 
there,” said Jay Kalam. 

“We must go back,” John Star 
cried. “If we hurry, perhaps we can 
beat them.” 

Now ahead, he rushed up the lad- 
der, reached the horizontal shaft, 
plunged down it, reckless of bumps 
and bruises. Hal Samdu kept close 
at his heels. Jay Kalam not far be- 
hind. Giles Habibula, heaving des- 



perately, called out from far in the 
rear: 

“Don’t desert old Giles, boys! 
Wait for me! Wait just a second, 
for poor, lame old Giles Habibula 
to snatch a mortal gasp of breath!” 

John Star saw the white flicker of 
a pocket light tube on the wall 
ahead, again heard voices. The 
pursuing guards, then, were just ap- 
proaching the intersection. He 
scrambled desperately to reach it 
ahead of them. 

The light flashed again, briefly, 
out of the intersecting tube, against 
the wall. He crouched behind the 
angle, breathing quietly as he could. 
When Hal Samdu came up, John 
Star cautioned the giant to silence 
with a pressure of his foot. 

Far l^ck, he heard Giles Habi- 
bula’s plaintive appeal: 

“Just a blessed second! Ah, a 
poor old soldier, sick and crippled, 
imprisoned and condemned to a 
mortal unjust death, deserted by his 
comrades ” 

The light flashed again. The 
leading man was just emerging from 
the side tunnel. In an instant, John 
Star had his arm, jerked him swiftly 
around the corner. 

IT WAS a fight in utter, unbro- 
ken darkness, for the light tube had 
fallen, gone out. A savage battle; 
the other man fought for his life, 
John Star for more than his. And 
brief; it was over before the next 
man in line had entered the pas- 
sage. 

John Star had trained himself at 
the academy in the science of phy- 
sical combat. He knew how to take 
quick advantage of every weakness 
of the fighting body; knew the 
abrupt twist that snaps a bone; the 
sharp jab against an exposed nerve 
that causes paralysis and sickening 
pain; the quick shift of position 

AST-7 



THE LEGION OF SPACE 



113 



that turns the weight and strength 
of an opponent into weapons of 
one’s own; the shrewd, sudden blow 
that kills. 

Light, small-boned as he was, he 
had trained his body to the tough- 
ness of steel and lightning speed. 
A quick mind, a perfect body, in in- 
stant coordination. Courage born 
of sure knowledge of himself. He 
was a fighting machine, swift and 
deadly. 

The other man tried first to use 
the heavy little proton gun he 
clutched in his right hand, discov- 
ered that his wrist had been 
snapped. With his left hand, then, 
he struck into the darkness, found 
that his own blow had hurled him 
painfully against the wall of the 
shaft. He twisted back, butting, 
striking savagely again; the force 
of his own lunge, skillfully di- 
verted, broke his neck. 

That was all. 

When the next man flashed his 
light, to see how the encounter was 
going, John Star had the proton gun 
the first had dropped, already point- 
ing down the tube. 

A thin, searing flame of pure elec- 
tricity, fusing metal, igniting com- 
bustibles, electrocuting flesh; a nar- 
row, killing sword of intense violet 
incandescence — the proton gun is no 
toy. 

A matter of split seconds! 

The other men had similar weap- 
ons. But they held themselves a 
moment as the light flashed on, 
waited an instant to aim, to see who 
had been victor in that brief, savage 
battle. John Star did not delay. 

And five men died in the shaft, 
the three foremost by direct, searing 
contact with the ray, the two others 
electrocuted by current passing 
through ionized air. When used at 
close range and full power, the 
proton gun is a deadly thing; and 
AST-8 



John Star pulled hard on the lever, 
to exhaust the energy of the cell in 
one terrific blast. 

The blinding violet flame went 
out. There was darkness in the 
shaft again, Stygian, complete; si- 
lence. The pungence of ozone in 
the air, from the action of the ray. 
The acrid smell of seared flesh and 
smoldering cloth. 

Such swift spilling of human life 
sickened John Star. It was the first 
test of the deadly arts he had 
learned; he had never killed a man 
before. He was abruptly trembling, 
oddly faint. 

“John?” whispered Hal Samdu 
uncertainly. 

“I’m — I’m all right,” he stam- 
mered, as he tried to get possession 
of himself. There had been no 
choice. He had been forced to do 
the thing, as he would be forced to 
kill again. A few lives, he told him- 
self sternly, were nothing against 
the safety of the Green Hall. And, 
another part of him whispered, the 
safety of Aladoree. 

He fumbled weakly for the 
dropped light tube. 

“The guards ” 

‘They’re all dead!” he whispered 
dully. “I killed them — all.” 

“You’ve a proton gun?” Hal 
Samdu did not sense his horror. 

“Dead!” he muttered. But the 
question brought him back to the 
necessity of the moment. “Yes, 
Useless, though, until I find an extra 
cell. Burned out.” 

Forcing himself to it, he searched 
the body by him, found no extra 
cell, moved on to those the ray had 
slain. 

Jay Kalam came up. 

“You used the proton blast? Full 
power? No use, then, to look for 
weapons or light tubes. Anything 
electrical. Burned out.” 

He had found another proton gun; 



114 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



it had been half fused, it was still 
so hot it seared his fingers, a twisted 
bit of useless metal. 

Far down the shaft, toward the 
prison, he heard a command, saw a 
flicker of light. 

“They’re coming again. We must 
get on. To the left, this time.” 

Giles Habibula came noisily up, 
blundered into Jay Kalam, wheez- 
ing: 

“Time we rested! I’ve lost ten 
mortal pounds, already, scampering 
through these blessed rat-holes. Ah, 
but I’m hot as ” 

“Come on!” urged Hal Samdu. 
“You aren’t as hot as you’ll be when 
a proton blast catches you in the 
rear!” 

On they tumbled, desperate, 
bruised, gasping for breath, again 
without a weapon — save for the use- 
less proton gun — still with no light; 
running on all fours; crashing pain- 
fully with rivets and flanges; gasp- 
ing for breath in the motionless air. 

John Star, now ahead, reported 
suddenly: “Another shaft! Larger! 
Runs both up and down.” 

“Up, then!” said Jay Kalem. “The 
intake must be above us. Probably 
on the roof.” 

They ascended flimsy metal rungs 
in utter darkness. 

“The roof!” John Star jerked out. 
“The landing stage, above the 
tower! There are ships on it!” 

“Possibly,” said Jay Kalam. “But 
we must pass the fans — easy to do 
if they keep them stopped. But 
there are guards on the landing 
stage, and we’ve no weapon.” 

They climbed, it seemed, inter- 
minably, up through rayless dark- 
ness. Breath came with painful 
effort. Muscles screamed and quiv- 
ered with the agony of fatigue. 
Worn, blistered hands left blood on 
the rungs. 

“I’ve been counting the rungs,” 



Jay Kalam said once, breaking the 
silence of endless, tortured effort 
“We must be in the great tower ” 

A current of air presently struck 
them, blowing down the shaft. 

“The fans again!” muttered John 
Star. “I wonder why ” 

He soon knew. The downward 
current increased. It became a 
tempest, a howling hurricane. It 
yelled in their ears with a de- 
moniacal voice. It ripped garments 
from their bodies. It snatched at 
them with prankish hands, ham- 
• mered at them with savage blows. 

“Trying ” screamed Jay Kalam 

above the roar of it, “to blow us — 
off the ladder! Climb on — fans — 
stop them! Can’t ” 

The wind whipped his voice away. 

JOHN STAR climbed on against 
the relentless pressure of rushing 
air, fighting the savage fingers that 
tore at him. The flimsy metal rungs 
quivered, bent beneath the strain on 
them. Steadily, painfully, he won 
his way against the tempest. 

Another sound was at last in his 
ears, above the shrieking air — the 
whine of gears, whirring of great 
rushing vanes. 

The racing fans, he knew it was, 
above. 

Up, he battled his way, inch by 
hard-won inch, to the top of the 
trembling ladder, to a platform of 
metal bars. The great blades were 
spinning in the darkness above it, 
he knew; great, racing vanes that 
would never pause as they split his 
skull and splashed its contents. 

Cautiously he moved, feeling his 
way. He was out of the main air 
current, now; he could move more 
easily. But sudden, freakish blasts 
still drove at him savagely, demon 
hands jerking him toward the swift 
death of the unseen blades. 

Toward the whine of gears he 



THE LEGION OF SPACE 



115 



moved. With cautious fingers he 
explored the frame of the vibrating 
machine, found the end. of a rotating 
shaft, thrust, slowly, carefully, with 
the heavy little gun, three times in 
vain. 

Then it was snatched out of sting- 
ing fingers. Deafening crashes fol- 
lowed; metal grinding; bits of shat- 
tered metal fiying; brief, shrill 
whine of an unloaded motor. 

Silence, then; peace. The whir- 
ring, invisible vanes slowed, 
stopped. The rushing, demoniacal 
air was still at last. John Star 
waited in the quiet darkness, pant- 
ing, resting his jerking muscles, 
while the others climbed up from 
where they had been clinging to the 
ladder. 

“Now the intake,” said Jay Kalam. 
“Before they come.” 

They climbed again, over the 
great vanes, and along the huge, 
motionless shaft, through the vast, 
horizontal intake tube, to the bot- 
tom of another vertical pit. 

“Light!” exulted John Star. “The 
sky !” 

A square bright patch at the top 
of the shaft. But it was not the 
sky, merely the under surface of 
the great landing stage. 

Up the last short ladder, they 
climbed, over a low wall, and stood 
upon the tower’s roof. Vast, flat, 
spaced with the openings of other 
similar shafts, covered with the for- 
est of gigantic piers that supported 
the immense platform of the flying 
stage, yet another hundred feet 
above. 

“They will know we’re up here,” 
said Jay Kalam. “From the fan. 
No time to waste.” 

They ran to the edge of the roof, 
climbed again, up the braces of a 
colossal beam. The last five feet, 
around the edge of the gigantic 
metal platform, John Star climbed 



alone, peered cautiously above its 
level surface. 

A mere hundred feet away lay the 
nose of the Purple Dream, slender 
bright arrow of silver metal, shim- 
mering in the rays of the small sun 
that burned, blue-white, brilliant, 
through the thin air of Phobos. 

The Purple Dream! Only thirty 
yards away. Freedom, safety, 
means to search for Aladoree. 
Trimly slender, beautiful; the new- 
est, finest, fleetest cruiser of the le- 
gion fleet. A splendid hope; but a 
hopeless one. Thirty yards 

Her air lock was sealed, her 
bright armor impregnable. Twelve 
legionnaires, armed, stood in line be- 
neath her valves, wearily alert. 

What madness, for the four to 
think of taking her! Four tattered 
fugitives, bruised, exhausted, with 
not one weapon save their bodies, 
and a thousand men hunting them. 
What madness, when the cruiser 
was the system’s most powerful 
fighting machine! 

John Star knew it was madness, 
yet he hoped — planned. 

X. 

JOHN STAR climbed back to the 
others, mutely eager Hal Samdu, 
cool, composed Jay Kalam, panting, 
groaning Giles Habibula. 

“The Purple Dream is there. Her 
valve toward us, sealed. A dozen 
men guarding her. But I think I 
see a way — a chance.” 

“How?” 

He explained, and Jay Kalam 
nodded, offered quiet suggestions. 

“We’ll try it. We can do no bet- 
ter.” 

They climbed down the pier to 
the roof again, Giles Habibula com- 
plaining bitterly at the new effort, 
ran diagonally across among the 
maze of beams, climbed back to the 



116 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



platform, to the edge behind the 
Purple Dream. 

Again John Star looked above the 
surface. 

No sentry, no searcher, was in 
view. That herculean climb up the 
shaft, three thousand feet, the last 
of them a heartbreaking battle with 
the wind, the exit over the blades 
of the great fan, had evidently not 
been comprehended in the plans of 
their pursuers. 

The level platform. The sides of 
the Purple Dream, fifty feet away, 
a shimmering curve of armor, un- 
broken. Purple-blue sky above and 
beyond. 

“Now,” he whispered. “All 
clear.” 

In seconds, he was over the edge, 
though it was an awkward scram- 
ble, even for his trained body. The 
others followed, helped by him. 

For all her fieetness and her fight- 
ing power, the Purple Dream was 
not large; one hundred and twenty 
feet long, twenty feet her greatest 
diameter. Yet it was not easy to get 
silently and unobserved on top of 
her, as John Star’s plan demanded. 

They ran beneath the black, pro- 
jecting muzzle of one of her stern 
rockets, lifted John Star to it. 
Then he, again, helped the others 
up. From the rocket, over the glis- 
tening smoothness of her silvery 
hull, they inched a slow and peril- 
ous way up and forward. 

Once Giles Habibula fell, started 
to slide down her polished shell; he 
gasped in mute terror; John Star 
and Hal Samdu caught him, drew 
him back. At last they were safely 
amidships. 

There they lay, waiting, atop her 
flattened hull. 

At first they were glad enough tb 
rest, after the herculean climb. But 
the sun beat down on them, through 
the thin artificial atmosphere of 



Phobos, blinding, intense, terrific. 
It drove back upon them from the 
mirror of the hull. They were soon 
blistered, gasping with heat, thirst 
tortured. 

They dared not move; they could 
only wait. 

John Star became increasingly 
aware of the peril of their position. 
True, they were invisible from near 
the ship. But the bright metal plat- 
form, at a distance, was visible, 
shimmering and dancing in the heat, 
and any one upon it there, if he 
happened to look closely at the top 
of the cruiser, could see them. 

Two hours, perhaps, they had 
been broiling there, when they 
heard a bell below, voices. 

“The commander. Coming on 
board in five minutes. The cruiser 
will be ready to take off at once.” 
“Have the valve unsealed. In- 
form Mr. Madlok.” 

“Wonder where he’s bound?” 
“Wants to get away, perhaps, until 
these escaped prisoners are cap- 
tured.” 

“Legion men, they say. One an 
old criminal. All desperate fellows, 
dangerous.” 

“Hiding in the ventilation 
shafts, they say.” 

“Don’t blame the commander, if 
he’s going away. Men clever 
enough to break out of that prison 
are surely ” 

“They’ve already killed the guards 
in the tubes.” 

“With their own guns,” 

Sound of feet on the stair from 
the elevator. Clang of metal, as the 
great outer valve was lowered, form- 
ing a tiny deck under the opening 
of the air lock. Feet on the accom- 
modation ladder, entering the ves- 
sel. At last the crisp order : 

“All clear! Close the valves!” 
“Now!” whispered John Star. 

He rolled swiftly off the top of 



THE LEGION OF SPACE 



117 



the hull, slid down feet first, struck 
the little platform of the lowered 
valve, darted inside the air lock. 
Hal Samdu was a second behind 
him, then Jay Kalam, Giles Habi- 
bula very little later, for all his 
bulk. 

IN THE struggle that followed, 
John Starr and his men had the ad- 
vantage of complete surprise. The 
first man, at the control mechanism 
of the valves, was not even armed. 
He gasped at sight of John Star, 
face abruptly white with panic — the 
fours reputation had preceded them 
aboard — tried to run. 

John Star caught him. A sharp 
jab to a vital plexus, a blow near 
the ear, and the man dropped with- 
out having uttered a sound. 

Giles Habibula came wheezing in. 
John Star shot at him: 

“Close the valves!” 

Once the air lock was sealed from 
within, he knew, there would be no 
interference from outside. 

Then, the gigantic Hal Samdu 
close behind him, and Jay Kalam, 
he burst upon the narrow deck. 

Two uniformed men appeared be- 
fore them, gasped, started, snatched 
at their weapons. With a single, 
terrible blow, Hal Samdu sent one 
of them crashing into the wall. His 
proton gun fell spinning. Jay Kalam 
picked it up, turned to met a third 
man, shouting, running down the 
deck. 

John Star was upon his opponent 
before his proton gun came out. 
His skilled hands did their deadly 
work; the man staggered back, arm 
snapped, back broken. Seizing his 
weapon, John Star was just in time 
to meet Madlok, emerging from the 
door of his cabin. 

The officer had heard the alarm. 
He came out with his weapon ready 
in his hand. Once again it was John 



Star’s quickness that decided the 
encounter, the perfectly timed re- 
action of a perfect mechanism. He 
was first with the deadly blast of 
electricity — merely the fraction of 
a second, perhaps, but enough. 

They divided, then. Giles Habi- 
bula remained to guard the air lock. 
Hal Samdu ran toward the crew’s 
quarters in the stern. Jay Kalam 
plunged down into the generator 
rooms, below the deck. John Star 
darted along the deck, forward, to- 
ward the commander’s cabin and the 
navigation bridge. 

The four were still outnumbered 
two to one — the full crew of the 
Purple Dream had been twelve, such 
a crew being ample, since the crui- 
ser was handled almost completely 
by automatic mechanisms, needing 
men chiefly for inspection and navi- 
gation. But they had not completely 
lost the advantage of surprise. 

John Star found two men for- 
ward. The navigator, having heard 
the battle, came out of the bridge 
room with a proton gun in his 
hands. Once more victory was de- 
cided by coordination, by economy 
of a fraction of a second. 

And John Star flung open the door 
marked “Commander,” found Adam 
Ulnar in his cabin, hanging up the 
coat that he had worn aboard. 

FOR A LONG second the com- 
mander stood quite motionless, 
breathless, staring at the bright, 
menacing little needle of the proton 
gun, his handsome face frozen into 
an absolute lack of expression. He 
breathed suddenly, the coat fell out 
of his hands, he sat down heavily in 
the single chair. 

“Well, John, you surprised me,” 
he said at last, with a short, husky 
little laugh. “I knew you were a 
dangerous man to keep alive. I was 
going away until you had been dis- 



118 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



posed of. But I wasn’t expecting 
this.” 

“I’m glad you value your life,” 
John Star snapped harshly. “Be- 
cause I want to trade it to you.” 
Adam Ulnar smiled. “You' have 
the advantage, John. Your men, I 
suppose, have complete possession 
of the cruiser?” 

“I imagine so, by this time.” 
“Still, this brands you as pirates. 
All the legion fleets will be hunting 
you after this.” 

“I know. But that doesn’t save 
you now. Do you want to trade for 
your life?” 

“What do you want, John?” 
“Information. I want to know 
where you have Aladoree Anthar.” 
He smiled, with faint relief, spoke 
more easily: “Fair enough, John. 
Promise me my life, and I’ll tell you 
— though I don’t think the informa- 
tion will give you much satisfac- 
tion.” 

“Well?” 

“I didn’t approve the thing, John. 
I wanted her "brought here, to the 
Purple Hall. I think Eric is trust- 
ing his strange allies too far. She 
wasn’t disposed to talk, you see. 
And it is difficult to persuade her, 
without the danger that she will die, 
and her secret with her.” 

“But where is she?” 

“They took her on the black flier, 
John, back to Yarkand.” 

“To Yarkand! The other star, 
outside the system?” 

“Yes, John. I didn’t think you’d 
find much comfort in the fact.” 
“We’ll go after her!” 

“Yes, John; I believe you would 
do that.” There was a note almost 
of admiration in his voice. “I be- 



lieve you would! But you couldn’t 
possibly hope to succeed.” 

“No?” 

“Our allies on Yarkand, John, are 
a pretty efficient race. I don’t like 
them myself — I’ve had contact with 
them. I don’t approve the alliance. 
And I didn’t approve taking the girl 
there. I don’t trust them so far as 
Eric does. 

“They aren’t human, at all, you 
understand — not like any form in 
the system, though Eric called them 
Medusae. They have a queer psy- 
chology. Rather unpleasant to deal 
with. 

“But they’re scientific, able, ad- 
vanced. Weird as they are, they’ve 
splendid brains. Cold, emotionless 
intelligence. They’re more like ma- 
chines than men. They get what 
they want, efficiently, ruthlessly. 

“So I think, John, that they will 
be able to guard the girl on Yark- 
and — and make her tell the secret. 
They have set up strange defenses 
to guard their planet — the Belt of 
Peril, that the insane men babble of. 

“And even if you keep me help- 
less, John, the plan will go ahead. 
The Medusae will come back. The 
legion will go over to them — the or- 
ganization controls it. The Green 
Hall will be wiped out — the Medusae 
have amazing weapons, John. And 
Eric will be set on the throne. On 
the throne you might have had, 
John!” 

Adam Ulnar’s confidence, John 
Star realized, was amply justified. 
How could four hunted fugitives 
defeat the space fleets of two sys- 
tems? How could they hope to 
rescue a girl guarded on the strange 
planet of another, far-off star? 



To be continued next month. 

The three musketeers of space go on to one astounding adventure after another. 

Follow them every month! 




The greatest collation of factual data on 
superscience in existence. Don*t miss any 
installments, or the story is incomplete 



PART TWO 



IV. 

O VER THE TOWN of Noir- 
fontaine, France, one day in 
April, 1842, there was a cloud- 
less sky, but drops of water were 
falling. See back to data upon re- 
petitions. The water was falling, as 
if from a fixed appearing-point, 
somewhere above the ground, to a 
definite area beneath. The next day 
water was still falling upon this one 
small area, as mysteriously as if a 
ghost aloft were holding the nozzle 
of an invisible hose. 

I take this account from the jour- 



nal of the French Academy of 
Sciences (Comptes Rendus) vol. 14, 
p. 664. 

London Times, April 26, 1821 — 
that the inhabitants of Truro, Corn- 
wall, were amused, astonished, or 
alarmed, "according to nerve and 
judgment,” by arrivals of stones, 
from an unfindable source, upon a 
house in Carlow Street. The mayor 
of the town visited the place, and 
was made so nervous by the rattling 
stones that he called out a military 
guard. He investigated, and the sol- 
diers investigated, and the clatter 
of theorists increased the noise. 




120 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



I Times, May 1 — stones still rattling, 
theorists still clattering, but nothing 
found out. 

Flows of frogs — flows of worms — 
flows of water — flows of stones — just 
where do we expect to draw a line? 
Why not go on to thinking that there 
have been mysterious transportations 
of hiunan beings? 

We’ll go on. 

London Times, Jan. 13, 1843 — 
that, according to the Courrier de 
JTsere, two little girls, last of Decem- 
ber, 1842, were picking leaves from 
the ground, near Clavaux (Livet), 
France, when they saw stones falling 
around them. The stones fell with 
uncanny slowness. The children ran 
to their homes, and told of the 
phenomenon, and returned with their 
parents. Again stones fell, and with 
the same uncanny slowness. It is 
said that relative to these falls the 
children were attractive agents. 
There was another phenomenon, an 
upward current, into which the chil- 
dren were dragged, as if into a vor- 
tex. We might have had data of 
mysterious disappearances of chil- 
dren, but the parents, who were un- 
affected by the current, pulled them 
back. 

In the Toronto Globe, Sept. 9, 
1880, a correspondent writes that he 
had heard reports of most improb- 
able occurrences upon a farm, near 
the township of Wellesley, Ontario. 
He went to the place, to interview 
the farmer, Mr. Manser. As he ap- 
proached the farmhouse, he saw that 
all the windows were boarded up. 
He learned that, about the end of 
July, windows had begun to break, 
though no missiles had been seen. 
The explanation by the incredulous 
was that the old house was settling. 
It was a good explanation, except for 
what it overlooked. To have any 
opinion, one must overlook some- 
thing. The disregard was that. 



quite as authentic as the stories of 
breaking windows, were stories of 
falls of water in the rooms, having 
passed through walls, showing no 
trace of such passage. It is said that 
water had fallen in such volumes, 
from appearing-points in rooms, that 
the furniture of the house had been 
moved to a shed. In all our records 
openness of phenomena is notable. 
The story is that showers fell in 
rooms, when the farmhouse was 
crowded with people. For more 
details see the Halifax Citizen, 
Sept. 13. 

I omit about sixty instances of 
seeming teleportations of stones and 
water, of which I have records. Nu- 
merousness hasn’t any meaning, as 
a standard to judge by. 

THE SIMPLEST CASES of seeming 
teleportations are flows of stones, into 
open fields, doing no damage, not espe- 
cially annoying anybody, and in places 
where there were no means of conceal- 
ment for mischievous or malicious per- 
sons. There is a story of this kind, in 
the New York Sun, June 22, 1884. June 
16th — a farm near Trenton, N. J. — two 
young men, George and Albert Sanford, 
hoeing in a field — stones falling. There 
was no building anywhere near, and there 
was not even a fence' behind which any- 
body could hide. The next day stones 
fell again. The young men dropped their 
hoes and ran to Trenton, where they told 
of their experiences. They returned with 
forty or fifty amateur detectives, who 
spread out and tried to observe some- 
thing, or more philosophically sat down 
and arrived at conclusions without ob- 
serving anything. Crowds came to the 
cornfield. In the presence of crowds, 
stones continued to fall from a point 
overhead. Nothing more was found out. 

For many strange occurrences there 
are conventional explanations. In the 
mind of a conventionalist, reported phe- 
nomena assimilate with conventional ex- 
planations. There must be disregards. 
The mind must reject some data. This 
process, too, is both alimentary and 
mental. 

The conventional explanation of mys- 
terious flows of stones is that they are 



LOI 



121 



peggings by neighbors. I have given 
data as I have found them. The conven- 
tional explanation of mysterious flows of 
water is that they are exudations from 
insects. If so there must sometimes be 
torrential bugs. 

New York Sun, Oct. 30, 1892 — that, day 
after day, in Oklahoma, where for weeks 
there had been a drought, water was fall- 
ing upon a large cottonwood tree, near 
Stillwater. A conventionalist visited this 
tree. He found insects. In Insect Life, 
5-204, it is said that the Stillwater mys- 
tery had been solved. Dr. Neel, Director 
of the Agricultural Experimental Station, 
at Stillwater had gone to the tree, and 
had captured some of the insects that 
were causing the precipitation. They 
were Proconia undata Fab. 

In Science, 21-94, Mr. H. Chaplin, of 
Ohio University, writes that, in the town 
of Akron, Ohio — about while water was 
falling upon a tree in Oklahoma — there 
had been a continuous fall of water, dur- 
ing a succession of clear days. Members 
of the faculty of Ohio University had in- 
vestigated, but had been unable to solve 
the problem. There was a definite and 
persisting appearing-point from which to 
a small area near a brickyard, water was 
falling. Mr. Chaplin, who had probably 
never heard of similar occurrences far 
from damp places, thought that vapors 
from this brickyard were rising, and con- 
densing, and falling back. If so there 
would often be such precipitations over 
ponds and other bodies of water. 

About the same time, water was mys- 
teriously appearing at Martinsville, Ohio, 
according to the Pbiladelpbia Public 
Ledger, Oct. 19, 1892. Behind a house, 
a mist was falling upon an area not more 
than a dozen feet square. St. Louis 
Globe-Democrat, Nov. 19 — ^that, in Water 
Street, Brownsville, Pa., there was a gar- 
den, in which was a peach tree, upon 
which water was falling. As to the in- 
sect-explanation, we note the statement 
that the water "seemed to fall from some 
height above the tree, and covered an 
area about fourteen feet square.” 

For all I know, some trees may have 
occult powers. Perhaps some especially 
gifted trees have power to transport 
water, from far away, in times of need. 
I noted the drought in Oklahoma, and 
then I looked up conditions in Ohio and 
Pennsylvania. Rainfall was below nor- 
mal. In Ohio, according to the Monthly 
Weather Review, of November, there 



was a drought. A watery manna came 
to chosen trees. 

There is no sense in trying to prove 
anything, if all things are continuous, so 
that there isn’t anything, except the in- 
clusive of all, which may be Something. 
But aesthetically, if not scientifically, 
there may be value in expressions, and 
we’ll have variations of our theme. 
There were, in places far apart, simul- 
taneous flows of water from stationary 
appearing-points, in and around Charles- 
ton, S. C., in the period of the long series 
of earthquake shocks there. Later I shall 
touch more upon an idea that would be 
an organic interpretation of falls of water 
in places that have been desolated by 
catastrophes. About the middle of Sep- 
tember, 1886, falling water from “a cloud- 
less sky,” never falling outside a spot 
twenty-five feet wide, was reported from 
Dawson, Georgia. This shower was not 
intermittent. Of course the frequently 
mentioned circumstance of the "cloud- 
less sky” has no significance. Water 
falling all the way from the sky, even 
at times of the slightest breezes, cannot 
be thought of as localizing strictly upon 
an area a few yards in diameter. We 
think of appearing-points a short dis- 
tance above the ground. Then showers 
upon a space ten feet square were re- 
ported from Aiken, S. C. There were 
similar falls of water at Cheraw, S. C. 
For particulars, see the Charleston News 
and Courier, Oct. 8, 21, 25, 26. For an 
account of falls of water, "from a cloud- 
less sky,” strictly to one point, in Char- 
lotte, N. C., according to investigations 
by a meteorologist, see the Monthly 
Weather Review, Oct., 1886. In the 
New York Sun, Oct. 24, it is said that, 
for fourteen days, water had been falling 
from "a cloudless sky,” to a point in 
Chesterfield County, S. C., falling so 
heavily that streams of it had gushed 
from roof pipes. 

Then came news that water was fall- 
ing from a point in Charleston. 

Several days before, in the News and 
Courier, had been published the insect- 
explanation of falls of water. In the 
News and Courier, Nov. 5, a reporter 
tells that he had visited the place in 
Charleston, where it was said that water 
was falling, and that he had seen a fall 
of water. He had climbed a tree to in- 
vestigate. He had seen insects. 

But there are limits to what can be 
attributed, except by the most desperate 
explainers, to insects. 



122 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



IN THE Monthly Weather Review, 
Aug., 1886, it is said that, in Charleston, 
Sept. 4th, three showers of hot stones 
had been reported. 

“An examination of some of these 
stones, shortly after they had fallen, 
forced the conviction that the public was 
being made the victim of a practical 
joke.” 

How an examination of stones could 
demonstrate whether they had been 
slung humorously or not, is more than 
whatever brains I have can make out. 
Upon Sept. 4th, Charleston was deso- 
lated. The great earthquake had oc- 
curred upon Aug. 31st, and continuing 
shocks were terrorizing the people. Still, 
I’d go far from my impressions of what 
we call existence, if I’d think that terror, 
or anything else, was ever homogeneous 
at Charleston, or anywhere else. Battles 
and shipwrecks, and especially diseases, 
are materials for humorists, and the fun 
of funerals never will be exhausted. I 
don’t argue that in the midst of desola- 
tion and woe, at Charleston, there were 
no jokers. I tell a story as I found it 
recorded in the Charleston News and 
Courier, Sept. 6, and mention my own 
conclusion, which is that wherever jocu- 
lar survivors of the catastrophe may 
have been cutting up capers, they were 
not concerned in this series of occur- 
rences. 

At two thirty, mofning of Sept. 4th, 
stones, which were found to be “warm,” 
fell near the News and Courier building, 
some of them bounding into the press 
room. Five hours later, when there was 
no darkness to hide mischievous sur- 
vivors, more stones fell. It was a strictly 
localized repetition, as if one persisting 
current of force. At one thirty in the 
afternoon again stones fell, and these 
were seen, coming straight down from a 
point overhead. If any conviction was 
forced, it was forced in the same old way 
as that in which for ages convictions 
have been forced, and that is by forcing 
agreements with prior convictions. Other 
details were published in the Richmond 
Whig: it was told that the stones, which 
were flint pebbles, ranging from the size 
of a grape to the size of a hen’s egg, had 
fallen upon an area of seventy-five square 
feet, and that about a gallon of them had 
been picked up. In A Descriptive Nar- 
rative of the Earthquake of August 31, 
1886, Carl McKinley, an editor of the 
News and Courier, tells of two of these 



showers of stones, which, according to 
him, “undoubtedly fell.” 

The localized repetitions of showers 
of stones are so much like the localized 
repetitions of showers of water, that one 
inclusive explanation, or expression, is 
called for. Insects did them? 

A complication has been developing. 
Little frogs fell upon Mr. Stoker and his 
horses, but we had no reason to think 
that either Mr. Stoker or his horses had 
anything to do with bringing about the 
precipitation. But the children of Cla- 
vaux did seem to have something to do 
with showers of stones, and trees did 
seem to have something to do with the 
precipitations of water. 

Rand Daily Mail, May 29, 1922 — that 
Mr. D. Neaves, living near Roodeport, 
employed as a chemist in Johannesburg, 
having for several months endured 
showers of stones, had finally reported 
to the police. Five constables, having 
been sent to the place, after dark, had 
hardly taken positions around the house, 
when a stone crashed on the roof. Phe- 
nomena were thought to associate with 
the housemaid, a Hottentot girl. She was 
sent into the garden, and stones fell ver- 
tically around her. This is said to have 
been one of the most mysterious of the 
circumstances; stones fell vertically, so 
that there was no tracing of them to an 
origin. Mr. Neaves’ home was an iso- 
lated building, except for outhouses. 
These outhouses were searched, but noth- 
ing to suspect was found. The stones 
continued to fall from an unknown 
source. 

Police Inspector Cummings took 
charge. He ordered all members of the 
family, servants, and newspaper men to 
remain in the house for a while : so 
everybody was under inspection. Out- 
side were constables, and all around were 
open fields, with no means of conceal- 
ment. Stones fell on the roof. Watched 
by the police, the Hottentot girl went to 
the well. A large stone fell near her. 
She ran back to the house, and a stone 
fell on the roof. It is said that every- 
thing that could be done was done, and 
that the cordon of police was complete. 
More stones fell. Convinced that in some 
way the girl was implicated, the Inspec- 
tor tied her hands. A stone fell on the 
roof. 

Then everything was explained. A 
“civilian,” concealed in one of the out- 
houses, had been caught throwing a stone. 
If so, whoever wrote this account did not 



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123 



mention the name of the culprit, and it 
is not said that the police made any 
trouble for him for having made them 
work. 

Then everything was explained again. 
It was said that the girl, Sara, had been 
taken to the police station, where she 
had confessed. “It is understood that 
Sara admits being a party to all the 
stone-throwing, and has implicated two 
other children and a grown native. So 
ends the Roodeport ghost story, shorn 
of all its alleged supernatural trappings.’’ 

However, the story reads more as if 
the girl had been taken to a barber shop. 
Her story was shorn, we read. It was 
clipped bald of all details, such as the 
cordon of police, search of the outhouses, 
and the taking of precautions, such as 
will not fit in with tUs yam of the tricky 
kids. In this book we shall note much 
shearing. 

THE WRITER, in the Monthly 
Weather Review, is not the only clipper 
who forces a conviction, when he can. 
There was a case, in another part of 
South Africa, not long before the bom- 
bardments at Roodeport began. In the 
Klerksdorp Record, Nov. 18, 1921, it is 
said that, for several weeks there had 
been “mysterious stonethrowing by in- 
visible agencies,” at the houses of Mr. 
Gibbon Joseph and Mr. H. J. Minnaar, 
in North Street. A detective was put 
upon the case. He was a logician. It 
was a ghost story, or it was a case of 
malicious mischief. He could not pinch 
a ghost. So he accused two Neg^roes, 
and arrested them. The Negroes were 
tried upon testimony given by two boys 
of their race. But the boys contradicted 
each other, and it was brought out that 
they were lying. They admitted that the 
logical detective had promised them five 
shillings to substantiate his syllogisms. 

In the Journal of the Society for 
Psychical Research, 12-260, is published 
a letter from Mr. W. G. Grottendieck, 
telling that, about one o’clock, one morn- 
ing in September, 1903, at Dortrecht, 
Sumatra, he was awakened by hearing 
something fall on the floor of his room. 
Sounds of falling objects went on. He 
found that little black stones were fall- 
ing, with uncanny slowness, from the 
ceiling, or the roof, which was made of 
large, overlapping, dried leaves. Mr. 
Grottendieck writes that these stones 
were appearing near the inside of the 
roof, not puncturing the material, if 



through this material they were passing. 
He tried to catch them at the appearing 
point, but, though they moved with ex- 
traordinary slowness, they evaded him. 
There was a coolie boy, asleep in the 
house, at the time. “The boy certainly 
did not do it, because at the time that I 
bent over him, while he was sleeping on 
the floor, there fell a couple of stones.” 
There was no police station handy, and 
this story was not finished ofi with a 
neat and fashionable cut. 

I point out that these stories of flows 
of stones are not conventional stories, 
and are not well known. Their details 
are not standardized, like “clanking 
chains” in ghost stories, and “eyes the 
size of saucers,” in sea-serpent yams. 
Somebody in France, in the year 1842 told 
of slow-moving stones, and somebody in 
Sumatra, in the year 1903, told of slow- 
moving stones. It would be strange, if 
two liars should invent this circum- 
stance — 

And that is where I get, when I reason. 

If strangeness be a standard for un- 
favorable judgment, I damn at a swipe 
most of this book. 

But damnation is nothing to me. I 
offer the data. Suit yourself. 

Nobody can investigate the reported 
phenomena that we’re taking up, without 
noticing the number of cases in which 
boys and girls, but a great preponderance 
of girls, appear. An e^^anation by those 
who disregard a great deal— or disregard 
normally — is that youngsters are con- 
cerned so much, because it is their own 
mischief. Poltergeist-phenomena, or 
teleportations of objects, in the home of 
Mr. Frost, 8 Ferrostone-road, Hornsey, 
London, for several months, early in the 
year 1921, can not be so explained. There 
were three children. Phenomena so 
frightened one of them that, in a nervous 
breakdown, she died (London Daily Ex- 
press, April 2, 1921). Another, in a simi- 
lar condition, was taken to the Lewisham 
(London) Hospital (London Daily News, 
April 30, 1921). 

In attempting to rationalize various de- 
tails that we have come upon, or to as- 
similate them, or to digest them, the 
tougdiest meal is swallowing statements 
upon mysterious appearances in closed 
rooms, or passages of objects and sub- 
stances through walls of houses, without 
disturbing the material of the walls. Oh, 
yes, I have heard of the fourth dimen- 
sion, but I am going to do myself some 
credit by not lugging in that explanation. 



124 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



There’s a story in the St. Louis Globe- 
Democrat, Jan. 27, 1888 — large stones 
that were appearing and “falling slowly” 
in closed rooms in the home of Mr. P. C. 
Martin, Caldwell County, North Carolina. 
Madras (India) Mail, March 5, 1888 — 
pieces of brick that, in the presence of 
many investigators, were falling in a 
schoolroom, in Pondicherry. 

I can understand this phenomenon, or 
alleged phenomenon, of appearances in 
closed rooms, no more than 1 can under- 
stand the passage of a magnetic field of 
force through the wall of a house, with- 
out disturbing the material. But lines of 
this force do not transport objects 
through a dense material. Then I think 
of X-rays, which do something like this, 
if it be accepted that X-rays are aggrega- 
tions of very small objects, or particles. 
X-rays do, or sometimes do, disturb ma- 
terials penetrated by them, but this dis- 
turbance is not evident until after long 
continuance. 

If there is teleportation, it is in two 
orders, or fields : electric and non-electric 
— or phenomena that occur during thun- 
derstorms, and phenomena that occur 
under “a cloudless sky,” and in houses. 
In the hosts of stories that I have gath- 
ered — but with which I have not swamped 
this book— of showers of living things, 
the rarest of all statements is of injury 
to the falling creatures. Then, from im- 
pressions that have arisen from other 
data, we think that the creatures may not 
have fallen all the way from the sky, 
but may have fallen from appearing 
points not high above the ground— or 
may have fallen a considerable distance 
under a counter-gravitational influence. 

I think that there may be a counter- 
gravitational influence upon transported 
objects, because of the many agreeing 
accounts — more than I have told of — 
of slow-falling stones, by persons who 
had probably never heard of other stories 
of slow-falling stones, and because I have 
come upon records of similar magic, or 
witchcraft, in what will be accepted as 
sane and sober meteorological observa- 
tions. 

See the Annual Register, 1859-70 — an 
account by Mr. E. J. Lowe, a meteorolo- 
gist and an astronomer, of a fall of hail- 
stones, at Nottingham, England, May 29, 
1859. Though the objects were more 
than an inch across, they fell slowly. In 
September, 1873, near Clermont-Ferrand, 
France, according to La Nature, 7-289, 
hailstones, measuring from an inch to an 



inch and a half across, fell. They were 
under an unknown influence. Notwith- 
standing their size, they fell so slowly 
that they did no damage. Some fell upon 
roofs, and rebounded, and it was as if 
these shook off the influence. Those 
that rebounded, then fell faster than fell 
those that came down in an unbroken fall. 
For other records of this phenomenon, 
see Nature, 36-445; Illustrated London 
News, 34-546; Bull. Soc. Astro, de 
France, June 19, 1900. 

IF IN THE general electric conditions 
of a thunderstorm there be sometimes a 
counter-gravitational effect upon objects, 
somebody might find out how counter- 
gravitationally to electrify aircraft and 
aviators. If all work is opposition to 
gravitation, somebody may make a big 
discovery of benefit to general laziness. 
Elevators in skyscrapers might be run 
with half the power now needed. Here 
is an idea that may revolutionize indus- 
try, but just now I am too busy revolu- 
tionizing everything else, and I give this 
idea to the world, with the generosity of 
somebody who bestows something that 
isn’t any good to him. 

But mysterious disappearances? 

Our data have been upon mysterious 
appearances. 

If I could appeal to what used to be 
supposed to be known as common sense, 
I’d ask whether something that mysteri- 
ously appears somewhere had not mys- 
teriously disappeared somewhere else. 

Annals of Electricity, 6-499 — Liver- 
pool, May 11th, 1842 — “not a breath of 
air.” Suddenly clothes on lines on a field 
shot upward. They moved away slowly. 
Smoke from chimneys indicated that 
above ground there was a southward 
wind, but the clothes moved away north- 
ward. 

There was another instance, a few 
weeks later. London Times, July 5, 1842 
— a bright, clear day, at Cupar, Scotland, 
June 30tlv — women hanging out clothes 
on a field. There was a sharp detona- 
tion, and clothes on lines shot upward. 
Some fell to the ground, but others went 
on and vanished. There was a seeming 
of selection, which, because of possible 
bearing upon various observations of 
ours, interests me. Though this was a 
powerful force, nothing but the clothes it 
seized was affected. 1 wonder about the 
detonation, largely because it is in agree- 
ment with a detail of still another story. 

The closeness in time of these two oc- 



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125 



currences attracts my attention. They 
were a few weeks apart, and I have no 
other such record, until seventy-seven 
years later. A sensible suggestion is that 
somebody, in Cupar, having read the 
Liverpool story, had faked a similar story 
from his town. A suggestion that is not 
so sensible is that, in this year 1842, 
somebody had learned the secrets of 
teleportation, and to avoid attracting 
much attention in any one place was ex- 
perimenting in places far apart. It seems 
likely enough to me that, if there be 
teleportation, human beings may have 
come upon knowledge of it, and may have 
used it. 

“Likely enough?” a spiritualist would 
say. “Has he never heard of apports?” 

But whether it’s narrowness and big- 
otry, upon my part, or not, I do not go 
to seances for data. I have collected 
notes upon “mysterious robberies,” won- 
dering whether a teleportative power has 
ever been used criminally. As to apports, 
if a medium could transport sea shells 
from the sea te his cabinet, he could ab- 
stract funds from a bank to his pocket. 
If he could, but would not, how account 
for his being a medium? Looking 
through newspapers, I have had a search- 
ing eye for something like an account of 
a medium, who had become mysteriously 
rich, in a town where there had been 
shortages of funds : clerks accused of em- 
bezzlement, and convicted, but upon evi- 
dence that was not altogether satisfac- 
tory. Although usually I can find data 
to “prove” anything that I want to 
“prove,” I have come upon no such ac- 
count, and I am sceptical as to apports, 
and think that mediums are like most of 
the rest of us, who are not criminals, 
having no exceptional abilities. How- 
ever there may be criminal adepts who 
are not known mediums. 

There was, in June, 1919, at Islip, 
Northampton, England, an occurrence 
like the occurrences at Liverpool and 
Cupar. London Daily Express, June 12, 
1919 — a loud detonation — basketful of 
clothes shooting into the air. Then the 
clothes came down. There may be in- 
effective teleportative seizures. 

London Daily Mail, May 6, 1910- 
phenomena near Cantillana, Spain. From 
ten o’clock in the morning until noon. 
May 4th, stones shot up from a spot in 
the ground. Loud detonations were 
heard. “Traces of an extinct volcano are 
visible at the spot, and it is believed that 
a new crater is being formed.” But there 



is no findable record of volcanic activity 
in Spain, at this tinte — nor at any other 
time. 

In Niles’ Weekly Register, Nov. 4, 
1815, there is an account of stones that 
had been watched rising in a held, near 
Marbleton, Ulster County, New York— 
that these stones had been seen to rise 
three or four feet from the ground, then 
moving horizontally, from thirty to sixty 
feet. 

In the Cborley (Lancashire) Standard, 
Feb. 15, 1873, is a story of excitement in 
the town of Eccleston. At Bank House, 
occupied by two elderly women and their 
niece, streams of water started falling, 
about the first of February, seemingly 
from ceilings. Furniture was soaked, 
and the occupants of the house were 
alarmed. The falls seemed to come from 
the ceiling, but “probably the most sin- 
gular feature of the affair is that ceilings 
were apparently quite dry.” See back to 
Mr. Grottendieck’s story of objects that 
were appearing near a ceiling, or roof, 
with no signs of penetrating the ma- 
terial. Workmen had been called to the 
house, and had investigated, but were un- 
able to explain. Openness again. House 
packed with neighbors, watching the 
showers. These data would make trouble 
for spiritualistic mediums and their re- 
quirements for special, or closed, condi- 
tions, and at least semi-darkness, if 
mediums were bothered by more than 
unquestioning or, occasionally politely 
questioning, faith. If some of them have 
been knocked about a bit, they were rela- 
tively few. Nobody in this house sat in 
a cabinet. Nobody was a logician. No- 
body reasonably argued that chemists, for 
instance, must have special conditions, or 
their reactions will not work out. “For 
instance,” said nobody, “how could you 
develop a photograph, except in the spe- 
cial conditions of darkness, or semi- 
darkness?” 

THE LOOK to me is that, throughout 
what is loosely called Nature, teleporta- 
tion exists, as a means of distribution of 
things and materials, and that sometimes 
human beings have command, mostly un- 
consciously, though perhaps sometimes 
as a development from research and ex- 
periment, of this force. It is said that 
in savage tribes there are “rain makers,” 
and it may be that among savages there 
are teleportationists. Some years ago, 
I’d have looked superior, if anybody had 
said this to me but a good many of us 



126 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



are not so given to the “tut-tut I” as we 
used to be. It may be that in civilized 
communities, because of their storages, 
a power to attract flows of water, being 
no longer needed, has virtually died out, 
still appearing occasionally, however. 

It could be that, in reading what most 
persons think are foolish little yarns of 
falling stones, we are, visionarily, in the 
presence of cosmic constructiveness— or 
that once upon a time this whole earth 
was built up by streams of rocks, tele- 
ported from other parts of an existence. 
The crash of falling islands— the humps 
of piling continents — and then the cos- 
mic humor of it all— or utmost spectacu- 
larity functioning, then declining, and 
surviving only as a vestige— or that the 
force that once heaped the peaks of the 
Rocky Mountains now slings pebbles at 
a couple of farmers, near Trenton, N. J. 

So I’d conceive of the existence of a 
force, and the use of it, unconsciously 
mostly, by human beings. It may be that, 
if somebody, gifted with what we think 
we mean by “agency,” fiercely hates 
somebody else, he can, out of intense 
visualizations, direct,, by teleportation, 
bombardments of stones upon his enemy. 

Water falls on a tree, in Oklahoma. It 
is told of in an entomological magazine. 
Water falls in a house in Eccleston. I 
read that in a spiritualists’ periodical, 
though I went to a newspaper for the 
data. These are the isolations, or the 
specializations, of conventional treat- 
ments. I tell of water falling upon a 
tree, ip Oklahoma, and of water falling 
in a house, in Eccleston, and think that 
both phenomena are manifestations of 
one force. It is my attempt to smash 
false demarcations: to take data away 
from narrow and exclusive treatments by 
spiritualists, astronomers, meteorologists, 
entomologists; also denying the validity 
of usurpations of words and ideas by 
metaphysicians and theologians. But my 
interest is not only that of a unifier: it is 
in bringing together seeming incongrui- 
ties, and finding that they have affinity. 
I am very much aware of the invigora- 
tion of products of ideas that are for- 
eign to each other, if they mate. This is 
exogamy, practiced with thoughts— to 
fertilize a volcanic eruption with a storm 
of frogs— or to mingle the fall of an 
edible substance from the sky with the 
unexplained appearance of Cagliostro. 
But I am a pioneer and no purist. 

Sometimes, in what I call “teleporta- 
tions,” there seems to be “agency” and 



sometimes not. That the “agency” is not 
exclusively human, and has nothing to do 
with “spirits of the departed” is indi- 
cated, I suppose, if we accept that some- 
times there are “occult powers” of trees. 
Some other time I may be able more 
clearly to think out an expression upon 
flows of pigeons to their homes, and flows 
of migratory birds, as teleportative, or 
quasi-teleportative. My suggestion as to 
the frequently reported “agency” of chil- 
dren, is that “occult forces” were, in 
earlier times of human affairs, far more 
prevalent, and far more necessary to the 
help and maintenance of human com- 
munities than they are now, with political 
and economic mechanisms somewhat 
well-established, or working, after a 
fashion; and that, wherein children are 
atavistic, they may be in rapport with 
forces that mostly human beings have 
outgrown. 

Though just at present I am no darling 
of the popes, I expect to end up holy, 
some other time, with a general expres- 
sion that all stories of miracles are not 
lies, or are not altogether lies; and that 
in the primitive conditions of the middle 
ages there were hosts of occurrences that 
now, considerably, though not altogether, 
have been outgrown. Anybody who 
broadly accepts the doctrine of relativity 
should accept that there are phenomena 
that exist relatively to one age, that do 
not, or do not so pronouncedly, exist in 
another age. I more or less accept a 
great deal that religionists piously be- 
lieve. As I see myself, I represent a 
modernization of the old-fashioned athe- 
ist, who so sweepingly denied everything 
that seemed to interfere with his dis- 
beliefs. 

There are of course other explanations 
of the “occult powers” of children. One 
is that children, instead of being atavistic, 
may occasionally be far in advance of 
adults, foreshadowing coming human 
powers, because their minds are not 
stifled by conventions. After that, they 
go to school and lose their superiority. 
Few boy-prodigies have survived an edu- 
cation. 

THE OUTSTANDING suggestion, 
which, however, like many other sugges- 
tions, I can not now develop, is that, if 
teleportation exists, it may be used. It 
may be criminally used, or it may be used 
commercially. Cargoes, without ships, 
and freights, without trains, may be of 
the traffics of the future. There may be 



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127 



teleportative voyages from planet to 
planet. 

Altogether, so many of our data are 
bound up with jokes, hoaxes, and flippant 
treatments that I think of the toy and 
play genesis of many practical inventions. 
Billions of dollars are today seriously 
drawing dividends from toys and games 
that were put to work. Billions of laughs 
and jeers have preceded solemn expres- 
sions of satisfaction with fat bank ac- 
counts. But this is only reasoning, and 
is nothing but logic and argument, and 
there have been billions of laughs that 
never turned into anything more satis- 
factory — though where do I get the idea 
that there is anything more satisfactory 
than a laugh? 

If, in other worlds, or in other parts 
of one relatively little existence, there be 
people who are far ahead of terrestrians, 
perhaps, teleportatively, beings from 
other places have come to this earth. 
And have seen nothing to detain them. 
Or perhaps some of the more degraded 
ones have felt at home here, and have 
hung around, or have stayed here. I’d 
think of these fellows as throw-backs; 
concealing their origin, of course; having 
perhaps only a slightly foreign appear- 
ance ; having affinity with our barbarisms, 
which their own races had cast off. I’d 
think of a feeling for this earth, in other 
worlds, as corresponding to the desire of 
most of us, now and then, to go to a 
South Sea Island and be degraded. 

There is another view, for which I am 
now gathering material — 

New York Times, Dec. 6, 1930 — “Scores 
die; 300 stricken by poison fog in Bel- 
gium; panic grips countryside. Origin 
complete mystery. War scenes recalled.” 
It may be that it was war. 



Mostly, explanations by the scientists 
were just about what one would expect, 
but, in the New York Telegram, Dec. 6, 
Prof. H. H. Sheldon was quoted — “If 
there is a widespread, lethal fog in the 
Meuse Valley, the conclusion of science 
would be that it is being deliberately 
caused by men or women.” 

It may be that inhabitants of other 
worlds, or other parts of one, organic ex- 
istence, have declared war upon this 
earth, and have discharged down here, 
sometimes under cover of fogs, volumes 
of poisonous gases. I have other records 
that may indicate something of this kind, 
but, reluctantly, I give up this interest- 
ing notion, as applied to the occurrence 
of Dec. 5, 1930, because it associates 
with another phenomenon, of which I 
shall tell later. 

Only two weeks after the tragedy in 
Belgium, appeared the joker. The writer 
of an editorial, in the New York Herald 
Tribune, Dec. 19, 1930, started the con- 
ventionalizing and the minimizing and 
the obscurizing that always cloak events 
that are inconsistent with a main norm 
of supposed knowledge. “One may sus- 
pect that a sensational newspaper man, 
counting up the deaths, some dark day, 
in the smoky steel towns on the Alle- 
gheny River, could produce a story not 
far behind that from Belgium.” 

Seventy-seven men and women were 
struck dead in Belgium. Oh, there’s al- 
ways some commonplace explanation for 
these occurrences, if we only use our 
common sensei 

Oil spurting from a ceiling — Sows of 
blood from inanimate objects — startling, 
inexplicable phenomena listed by Charles 
Fort in next month’s issue! 





This man out of the far past looked down on a fabulous city — and saw that 
it was a city tragic, desolate, and lost! 



Illustrated by M. Marchioni 



AST— 8 



The LONG NIGHT 

A Novelette by Charles Willard Diffin 



G arry COYNE was nervous. 
His hands, clasping and un- 
clasping, showed it; so did 
his restless pacing back and forth 
over the full length of his labora- 
tory. But there was nothing of fear 
in his level gray eyes that stared un- 
seeingly; rather was there the ten- 
sion that comes with some terrific 
excitement strongly repressed. 

Coyne was tall and wiry, his face 
too lean and too strong to be hand- 
some. He was dressed in a suit of 
plain gray — dressed carefully as if 
for some important event. But his 
black hair, unruly at the best, was 
a tangle where his hand had passed 
nervously and repeatedly through it. 

Beside the door of the laboratory 
another man sat watching him. 
Older, a touch of gray at his tem- 
ples; he watched Coyne as a doctor 
might watch an eccentric patient. 

Coyne, turning abruptly, blun- 
dered into a glass case in which liz- 
ards crawled sluggishly about. He 
went on past other cases of dark- 
red glass where more small reptiles 
lay as if dead. He turned, hesitated, 
then came to a stop before a gray 
metal box on the floor. 

The box was like a casket. It was 
large enough to hold the body of a 
man, and its length was further ex- 
tended by a metal case at the casket’s 
head. A cover of heavy glass was 
over it all; dark-red glass, like the 
cases that held the inanimate liz- 
ards and frogs. The glass cover was 
edged with a metal lip which was 
seated in a mercury-filled groove. 
Coyne touched the box, jarring it 
AST— 9 



ever so gently. Instantly the cover 
swung into motion and came 
smoothly up. It showed, inside the 
casket, a series of soft pads and 
cushioning springs, and, in the metal 
case at the head, small cylinders of 
compressed gas with an actuating 
mechanism for opening them. 

Strange equipment for a labora- 
tory, as strange as the rows of glass 
cases and the stranger things they 
held. All this the man near the door 
must have seen; he spoke as if his 
curiosity could no longer be con- 
trolled. 

“What’s it all about?” he asked. 
“You sent for me, Coyne; now, for 
Heaven’s sake, tell me what’s on 
your mind.” 

Coyne swung abruptly about. His 
answer came almost curtly; the ten- 
sion he was repressing showed in his 
voice. 

“Listen, Mellinger! I’ve sent for 
you because I can trust you to at- 
tend to things when I am gone, to 
see that my body is held safely in 
some secure place — the Smithsonian, 
perhaps.” 

Professor Mellinger’s stooped 
shoulders jerked back, and his lips 
opened. Coyne forestalled any in- 
terruption. 

“Listen! Look at this!” He 
reached one hand into a glass case. 
Carefully he picked up a lizard. The 
creature wriggled violently in his 
hand, then lay still. 

“How old is this?” Abruptly 
Coyne’s voice grew strained and 
higher-pitched ; plainly he had all he 
could do to restrain some surging 



130 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



emotion. He answered his own ques- 
tion: 

“More thousands of years than 
you or I dare dream of. This lizard 
came from a bed of coal. It was in- 
cased there in the Carboniferous 
period. I took it out, myself — this 
and four others. The four others 
died. But they were alive after 
countless years. Alive, I say!” 

Professor Mellinger said quietly: 
“Go on!” 

“I am going on,” Coyne’s tired 
young face lighted with an odd 
smile, “going further than you think. 
A thousand years — two thousand — 
I can’t tell as to that. I am going 
into the future. I shall see the glory 
of that new day. I shall ” 

Mellinger came to his feet. He 
snapped out: “Who is your doctor? 
Call him, Coyne. If you don’t I’ll 
give you a sedative, myself. You’re 
raving, man.” 

He took one step toward Coyne, 
but Coyne moved more quickly. 
Two strides brought a flat-topped 
desk in the middle of the room be- 
tween them. In a leather case on 
the desk, instruments glinted. 
Coyne snatched up a hypodermic 
syringe and stabbed the point 
against his wrist where a vein made 
a thick blue line. But he did not 
press the plunger. 

“Wait!” he ordered sharply. “In 
a moment you will understand. 
These reptiles — suspended anima- 
tion — you get that, of course. Now 
get this: 

“In their bodies a new substance 
is secreted. I have isolated it. I 
have tested it upon animal subjects. 
I’ve worked out a dosage scale, and 
I know how long its effects persist 
in a body incapable of secreting 
more.” 

Mellinger said in a quick excite- 
ment: “You mean — you are telling 
me you have isolated the hormone, 



the activating substance that holds 
a physical body dormant, that sus- 
pends animation without destroying 
life !” Then, shouting in sudden 
horror: “Not yourself, Coyne! 

Don’t ” 

Coyne smiled again ; a tired smile, 
but it held triumph, too, and his face 
was alight with anticipation. 
Slowly, surely, he pressed the 
plunger until the hypodermic was 
empty. 

“It is done.” His voice was very 
low. 

Mellinger sprang then. He 
gripped Coyne by the shoulder. He 
shouted: “You fool! You utter 
fool! A thousand years ” 

Coyne repeated it: “A thousand 
years — or two or three thousand ! 
What wonders, what marvels will be 
waiting ” 

His face, even while he spoke, was 
changing. It grew more drawn and 
tired, then its muscles relaxed. All 
the driving power of that pent-up 
nervous energy seemed ebbing away. 
Coyne spoke as if speaking were an 
enormous effort: 

“You will find — ^written instruc- 
tions — very complete. The casket 
must — remain sealed. Place it — 
where it will be safe — while the cen- 
turies pass.” 

With dragging feet he crossed to- 
ward the waiting casket of gray 
metal and knelt, then let himself 
into it, his body resting on the soft 
pads and springs. He settled him- 
self as one weary from a hard day’s 
toil. 

Mellinger was beside him, kneel- 
ing, looking down with horror-wid- 
ened eyes. Mellinger said hoarsely : 

“Speak, Coyne! Tell me it’s a 
ghastly joke! Coyne, for Heaven’s 
sake ” 

On Garry Coyne’s face that little 
smile came and rested for a moment. 
For a brief instant a ghost of his 



THE LONG NIGHT 



131 



former wild elation shone in his 
eyes. But his voice was a tired 
whisper : 

“The long night — ^beginning ” 

And, after a pause: “A thousand 
years ” Inside the casket hid- 

den mechanism clicked. 

Slowly the glass cover came down 
and seated itself in the mercury- 
filled grooves. Under it, seen dimly 
through the dark-red glass, Coyne 
lay at rest. He was unmoving; no 
slightest breath disturbed his lips. 

II. 

BACK of those eyes, closing 
wearily under the red glass, was 
the mind, the soul, all the real self 
that was Garry Coyne ; Coyne, 
plunging into unplumbed depths of 
a void that was darker than night. 

Black nothingness wrapped him 
about. It was immeasurable, as if 
it had always been and might never 
end. It was timeless; time itself, 
like some mere lingering human 
dream, seemed blocked off. Utter 
nothingness — sleep— -until 

Coyne was waking. Out of the 
depths he rose slowly. He was like 
a swimmer coming up from a deep 
dive where each dragging second is 
an age. He was gasping — drown- 
ing. Then a blast of oxygen filled 
his lungs and stung in his nostrils. 
The first beating of his heart had 
released it. 

The gas bit in his throat. 
Thoughts flashed like little bursts 
inside his brain. Oxygen — a thou- 
sand years! He was breathing oxy- 
gen that instant ! Then understand- 
ing came crashing upon him. Yet 
Garry Coyne, suddenly, startlingly 
awake, lay as one dead, while a wave 
of disappointment, overwhelming 
him, almost carried him back to the 
darkness from which he had come. 
For Coyne knew he had failed. 



The time had been so short. Min- 
utes — at the most an hour — Mellin- 
ger had been bending over him. 
Coyne groaned aloud in the bitter 
agony of his disillusionment. 

He knew that he must open his 
eyes; knew he would see the cover 
lifting, actuated by the same mecha- 
nism that had released the oxygen. 
He would see Mellinger — laughing, 
without doubt; see the mocking fa- 
miliarity of his own laboratory. 

By sheer strength of will he 
forced his eyelids apart. And, hav- 
ing done it, with his eyes wide, he 
stared straight above into blackness 
and nothing more. 

He flung upward spasmodically 
with his hands. They moved only 
inches, then struck against a hard 
surface. And, with that, new terror 
gripped him. 

His sleep — he knew it suddenly 
and with devastating sureness — had 
been more than an hour. And Mel- 
linger — Mellinger had not believed! 
Mellinger had allowed them to bury 
him. 

Terror was a gripping hand at his 
heart; his thoughts ended in tur- 
moil; the sides of his coffin were 
pressing him, smothering him — all in 
a single fraction of a second before 
the blackness of the grave was rent 
by a thin sliver of light. 

He watched with protruding eyes 
while it grew. He saw the thin line 
of light broaden, saw it reflected 
with a dull red glow from the un- 
der side of the cover that wJs lift- 
ing slowly and smoothly above him. 
But the cover was opaque where 
light should have shone through — 
until, on the upper surface of the 
tilting glass, some substance which 
had clouded it slipped and cascaded 
and left the glass smudgily red. 

Dust — the dry smell of it was 
wafted to him. He knew it was the 
dust of ages. Stunned, he watched 



132 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



it slip and slide ; heard it thud upon 
the floor ; saw its tiny particles whirl 
up and roll like smoke under a high, 
curving roof. Then Coyne moved — 
moved suddenly. All his strength 
went into the one wild effort that 
flung him up to a sitting posture, 
took him sideways and rolled him 
crashing to the floor. 

He never felt the fall. He knew 
only that he must know. The time 
— the year of his awakening — where 
was he? His eyes were like a mad- 
man’s as he rolled in the thick dust. 

It choked him. He sprang to his 
feet. His clothing lost its last co- 
hesiveness and rained down to join 
the dust on the floor. Even his 
shoes were disintegrated. He stood 
nakedly erect, swaying slightly, 
weak with a faintness that left him 
trembling, while his eyes searched 
the room. 

The floor was placed in the lower 
part of a great sphere. Walls, curv- 
ing and meeting above him, were a 
riot of blending colors as if carved 
from one huge jewel. Through 
them ran lines of white light that 
flooded the sphere with brilliance. 

He knew it was a sphere. And 
somehow he knew that it was sus- 
pended in space. He knew this even 
before a voice spoke out in con- 
firmation. 

“Hail, Man of the Twentieth Cen- 
tury!” said the voice. 

It came from a cabinet let into the 
wall. It must have been thrown 
into operation by some ray inter- 
ference from the opening casket. A 
man’s voice, high and nasal, repel- 
lently disagreeable. But it was a 
human voice, and Coyne listened av- 
idly as it went on: 

“I, Princeps Tahgor, Chief of the 
Science Control, Grand Ruler of the 
Rulers of Earth, address you. I 
speak in the year five three nine of 



the Rule of Science. You have slept 
for one thousand years. 

“And still you sleep; it may be 
for centuries more. But this day my 
voice is recorded to greet you; this 
day we place you in the sphere; we 
raise the sphere on high; we fix it 
immovable on an invisible shaft of 
force, the negative gravitation of 
which men in your day were un- 
aware. Only your awakening can 
operate the controls to remove this 
force ; only your awakening will 
bring the sound of my voice. 

“And now I greet you! Hail, 
Master of All the World! All is 
yours, all the lands and seas of 
Earth. Descend now and enter into 
your kingdom.” 

Harsh, unpleasant, with a note of 
mockery running through it all. It 
was disturbing, but Coyne had no 
time for speculation. For, in the 
floor, close by the pedestal, support- 
ing the casket, a shutter was open- 
ing, rolling the dust aside, exposing 
a clear lens. Coyne forced himself 
to steadiness as he looked down at 
a section of Earth like a map. 

He wcis above a great city aglow 
in the light of a setting sun. It 
glittered with clear opalescent tints ; 
it was like a rainbow, crystallized, 
shattered, and the fragments scat- 
tered by some giant hand. There 
was shore line and an expanse of 
sea. An island slanted outward. 

Coyne, snapping suddenly erect, 
shouted his understanding: “It’s 
New York! There’s the bay! That’s 
Long Island !” Then the sphere was 
dropping swiftly beneath him; land 
and sea were rushing upward to 
meet him as the shutter closed. 

He was weightless; then he was 
heavy. The floor pressed upward as 
the swift fall checked. The sphere 
thudded lightly, then lay still. 

'The voice of Princeps Tahgor 
called loudly: “Open!” 



THE LONG NIGHT 



133 



In the curved wall a door slid 
smoothly aside. 

Coyne stood spellbound. Outside 
was sunlight of late afternoon; a 
soft breath of air swirled in with all 
the scents of the good familiar 
world. Out there the world was 
waiting — his world. There would 
be throngs of people 

Coyne, suddenly, was trembling in 
every fiber of his body. 

III. 

A WORLD was waiting — and, ab- 
ruptly, ludicrously, Coyne realized 
his ovm nakedness. His clothes 
were only a mound of dusty frag- 
ments, but beside them stood a chest. 

Its lid had been raised. Inside 
was a robe that seemed made of 
spun gold. It was woven metal, its 
threads as fine as softest silk. San- 
dals beneath it were a heavier weave 
of the same metal. There was a 
flask of water, hermetically sealed. 

Coyne knocked off the top of the 
flask and drank. He found tablets 
in a vial marked, “Food Concen- 
trates.” These helped. Then he 
slipped his arms into the robe and 
put the sandals on his feet. And 
after that, more than half dazed, 
walking like one in a dream, he 
stumbled toward the door — through 
it — out into the sunlight’s glare. 

The light was blinding, but at last 
he saw a sloping ramp that led down 
to a broad plaza whose marble pav- 
ing reached out to a curved balus- 
trade. Broad steps led still farther 
down ; and beyond all were towering 
masses, buildings of glass in strange 
colors and forms. 

He was beholding marvels, yet he 
gave them no thought. People — 
men and women — that was what he 
wanted. The touch of human hands ! 
But the broad plaza was empty, like 



some holy place, too sacred for the 
tread of men. 

Was he held in such veneration as 
that? — Coyne asked silently; then 
slowly he walked down the broad 
ramp and made his way across the 
empty plaza until he stood at the 
balustrade. And then the silence 
that hung over all bored in upon 
him. 

Silence! In all the world below 
him was no slightest sound. Swiftly 
his gaze swept the vast panorama. 

Colors blurred before his light- 
blinded eyes, but he saw in bewil- 
dering, kaleidoscopic succession the 
sky-piercing structures : black ob- 
sidian, emerald, topaz, rose. Lacy, 
gossamer bridges swung between 
them in incredible spans; broad 
streets arched in successive eleva- 
tions; and through all a maze of 
giant skeleton tubes, twenty feet in 
diameter, thrust abruptly from one 
building to the next or curved down- 
ward to vanish in the ground. 

Coyne turned and looked back. 
Already the sun was blocked off by 
the great sphere lying at rest in a 
cradling frame. From this lower 
level he could see only the upper 
half of the sphere ; the doorway was 
hidden. His eyes, searching, search- 
ing, followed down the terraces to 
the plaza where he stood. Seeing 
more clearly now, he noted the pave- 
ment’s unevenness, its blocks forced 
apart and tilted. Here and there 
one was raised almost on end. Vege- 
tation shown green between the 
stones. Sharply Coyne swung back 
toward the city. 

The green things were there, too 
— he saw them now — vines and 
creepers ever5rwhere, growing from 
every nook and crevice, tearing the 
great structures apart, working their 
slow conquest that was bringing 
these marvels back to the dust. In 
one nearer building shaped into a 



134 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



great dome a crack had opened like 
a gaping wound. Here a giant oak 
had thrust its trunk; the tree must 
have been a hundred years in grow- 
ing. 

Destruction! Even as Coyne 
watched, a slender tower gave way 
at its base. Its sky-flung pinnacle 
swung outward in a slow arc. Then 
the whole mass crumpled and 
changed to a cataract of metal and 
stone. The roar of its falling beat 
about him; the impact, when it 
struck, was like a blast. 

He was deafened. The silent city 
took the roar and tossed it back and 
forth through its vast canyons; it 
changed the sound to thunder that 
rolled and boomed — until the last 
reverberation faded and left silence 
more devastating than before. 

“Dead!” Coyne’s lips were stiff, 
his voice only a hoarse whisper. “A 
dead city — in a dead world!” 

Over the plaza the shadows of eve- 
ning crept to reach on and out across 
the silence. The city took on strange 
lights. Bands of color, zigzags of 
white light glowing softly; a high 
dome seemed shimmering with 
flame. 

Each towering structure grew 
luminous; each slender spire was a 
fairy wand. Coyne hardly sensed it. 
He stood unmoving while darkness 
deepened, and stars in the night sky 
pricked out their familiar patterns. 
Until at last his feet took him 
blindly across the plaza, up the ramp 
and back toward the sphere. With 
numbed hands he gathered his robe 
about him and entered only to freeze 
rigid as chaos and destruction met 
his eyes. 

The casket — and Coyne knew the 
weight of it — had been flung clear 
across the room. Its pedestal of 
black onyx was a heap of fragments. 
The chest, on end, its cover hanging 
askew, was a battered wreck. And 



the dusty floor was littered with 
scores of objects previously unseen. 
The shock of it brought Coyne to 
himself. His stupor left him. 
Something had been there! Some- 
thing — 

Crackling thoughts, swiftly 
changed. Not some thing but some 
one! Some one tremendously strong 
— clever — seizing the crashing thun- 
der of the tower to screen this at- 
tack. 

Coyne shot one quick glance about 
the room — at the curved walls, the 
dome above, the floor. His eyes 
stopped there. He did not move. 
Only a quivering rippled through 
every nerve. He was looking at 
footprints in the dust. 

Bare feet — they had been every- 
where. The toes, splayed out, only 
accentuated a distortion of what 
were unmistakably man-made marks. 
Yet no human could have left prints 
like these — only some one twice the 
size of a man. 

Coyne, suddenly, was leaping for 
the door. He threw his weight 
against it. He cursed savagely at 
the ponderous metal that refused to 
move. He was panting; his lungs 
seemed bursting with the violence 
of his efforts. 

He stopped. In a strangled voice 
he said: “I can’t close it! I can’t 

” Then, as if the words had 

brought the inanimate metal to life, 
the great door swung shut. 

And Coyne? Only a moment be- 
fore he had been stricken by over- 
powering loneliness. Now all that 
was changed. 

He was alone— in a voice choked 
to a whisper he thanked God that 
he was alone. Like some primitive 
man seeking safety in a cave, he 
stood panting. The softly lighted 
room was a refuge ; the closing door 
was a barrier between him and the 
night. And out there in the night, 



THE LONG NIGHT 



135 



ia a world weirdly beautiful, waited 
something — some one — for which he 
could not even imagine a name. 

But he was safe. He could wait 
here 

Under his sandaled feet a frag- 
ment of glass crunched sharply. He 
looked down. The dust was wet 
where he stood; a few drops of wa- 
ter still glistened, all that remained 
of his scant supply. Near by was 
the battered chest, empty. The vial 
of food concentrates was nowhere 
to be seen. 

Every cell in Coyne’s body seemed 
clamoring. He was faint — the glow- 
ing walls appeared whirling about 
him. He must have food. And wa- 
ter — above all things he must have 
water. 

Wildly staring, he was abruptly 
straining his eyes against utter dark. 
The lines of light in the sphere had 
winked out. 

IV. 

WATER! Water! Water! 
Throughout the night the word rang 
in tormenting repetition through 
Coyne’s mind. His body, after its 
long sleep, seemed afire; the blood 
pounding through him was a hot 
stream. And, intensifying it, was 
the memory of something he had 
seen in the outer world: water, a 
shimmering sheet of it flowing over 
broken marble blocks. 

It had rippled in the distance — 
but that had been in daylight. Now 
even his torturing thirst could not 
drive him out into that night. 

High over his head was a single 
bull’s-eye through which shone a 
star. Slowly that one point of light 
moved from sight and others took 
its place. They passed in leisurely 
procession, but at last they faded 
and the whole bull’s-eye grew gray 
with morning light. Then Coyme 
stood before the door. 



The door had moved when Tab- 
gar’s voice had called: “Open!” 
And Coyne himself had unwittingly 
used the word “close.” Child’s play 
— still Coyne realized that whoever 
devised it might have been uncertain 
as to his own mental perceptions; 
they had made this simple for him. 

Coyne had a metal bar in his hand. 
He weighed it and swung it through 
the air once; then he called: 
“Open!” 

A moment later he was outside. 
The morning air was cool. Again, 
at a word, the door closed; then 
Coyne, heedless of danger, broke 
into a run. But the bar was in his 
hands as he raced down the ramp, 
across the plaza and on toward the 
water that rippled invitingly in the 
distance. Like a thirst-crazed ani- 
mal at a desert water hole he flung 
himself face down at the edge of a 
pool. 

After a time he stood up, a soli- 
tary figure in a robe woven of metals 
still unmined back in his own past. 
He looked about him at a great cir- 
cular space a half mile across. 

It was paved. Gardens and foun- 
tains and statuary had once made it 
beautiful. At its center, terraces 
rose tier on tier; the flight of steps 
he had come down was one of many 
cutting the marble terrace walls. 
Above them was the plaza, then the 
broad ramp leading still up. And 
on the apex of it all, topping this 
man-made hill, rested the great 
sphere. 

It must once have been a hub of 
the city. Great avenues had radiated 
from it ; now these were choked with 
debris. Rocks, shattered glassy 
blocks, steelwork like gaunt, twisted 
skeletons. And mingled through it 
all, covering it, was a blanket of 
vines and dead leaves and dust. 

It would have been depressing, 
but through Coyne the thrill of this 



136 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



great adventure was tingling. He 
would explore it all later on. Now 
he must go in search of food — that 
was the first requisite — but he would 
stay within easy reach of the sphere. 
He swung his metal club to his 
shoulder. He was glancing about, 
listening alertly for any soimd, as 
he headed toward the nearest of the 
great radiating ways. 

He fought through the choked 
avenue among towering structures 
of iridescent hues. Their beauty 
was bewildering ; their immensity al- 
most overpowering. Who had built 
them? What had that race been 
like? He found the answer in a 
magnificent statue where the avenue 
widened. 

It was the figure of a man in 
heroic proportions. He stood erect 
in an arrogant pose. His face, as 
the morning sun sent slanting rays 
down the great canyon, seemed alive. 
A cruel face, thin-lipped and rather 
gaunt. The eyes slanted with a re- 
minder of the orient. The head 
bulged into a hairless dome. Colors 
had been forced into the stone; the 
head was yellow and the face was 
the same. 

Some master craftsman had carved 
that face. He had caught every sub- 
tle expression; he had shown there 
the soul of the man. And he had 
depicted a man as cold, as heartless, 
and as unfeeling as the stone itself. 

Co)me shivered, so strong was the 
repulsion that he felt. Then he 
moved closer to read a name, deeply 
carved. “Princeps Tahgor,” the let- 
tering said. Then the declaration: 
“I rule.” 

Coyne turned away. So this was 
what the last great race had been. 
This was the man who had mocked 
him, knowing that for the sleeper 
there could be only a horrible awak- 
ening. Bitter thoughts — they ended 
abruptly. Between Coyne and the 



nearest building came a burst like 
an exploding shell. 

The air shrieked with whistling 
fragments. One struck Coyne’s 
chest and knocked him to the pave- 
ment. He saw the fragment re- 
bound. It was glass. It would have 
tom him in two but for the protec- 
tion of his metal robe. 

From where he lay he saw another 
mass descending. Back of it still 
others curved out in glinting arcs. 
They were coming from one of the 
slender bridges high overhead. 
Cojme sprang to his feet and ran. 
His explorations were at an end ; all 
he asked now was the safety of the 
sphere. 

Behind him, as he struggled over 
the littered street, was an endless 
succession of bursts. Twice he 
glanced back and saw the deadly 
rain of glass. Each one of the 
countless bridges above him was a 
fort from which the missiles were 
thrown. 

He knew at last that he was being 
driven — no bursts blocked the way 
ahead — but what it was that drove 
him was unseen. There was only 
this incessant roar of exploding 
glass and himself, a human, driven 
on and on. 

Crossing the big open space at 
last, he shot one look over his shoul- 
der. Still the pavement was empty. 
His lungs were laboring painfully as 
his tired muscles dragged him to- 
ward the doorv/ay of the sphere — 
a doorway he never entered. 

The walls of the sphere were 
thick; the entrance recessed. Still 
fifty feet away, he knew that some- 
thing waited there in the shadow. 
In one great bound it leaped out 
into the light. 

A woman — a giant, savage woman 
— that was his first thought. In the 
same instant he knew the folly of 
it. It was no woman ; it was nothing 



THE LONG NIGHT 



137 



human. It was only a great she 
beast in human form that stood fac- 
ing him. 

It would have been ten feet in 
height if it had straightened, but it 
was half crouched, ready to spring. 
Naked, but for the scant covering 
of a wolf pelt about the big hips, 
its skin was a blotched mingling of 
yellow and brown. Its head was 
small and sunk between the shoul- 
ders. The thing was all body and 
bulging, sweaty muscles. 

Coyne got it all in that one in- 
stant: the little wicked eyes, the 
straggling locks of hair about a 
round flat face. He sensed the 
beastliness of it; for a moment he 
even grasped dimly the idea of 
brutes like this being bred by men 
like Tahgor, bred for muscle and 
brute strength. Then in the flat face 
thick lips opened to show toothless 
gums, and, from the mouth, sound 
came to shatter Coyne’s certainty of 
the thing’s inhumanness. For it 
spoke human words in one hideous, 
snarling cry. 

“Mine!” it shrieked. “Mine! 
Zeeten!” 

From the silent city came a blood- 
chilling chorus in reply — but the 
word was different. “Kill!” — the 
dead walls echoed it and made it a 
bedlam of sound. “Kill! Kill!” 

One look over Coyne’s shoulder 
showed the pavement suddenly 
swarming. She beasts, great hideous 
things like this that he faced, they 
came in a surging wave from the 
city. But between him and the 
safety of the sphere was only this 
one. Coyne, throwing himself for- 
ward in one mad rush, swung the 
bar over and down. 

It was wrenched from his hands 
before it struck, torn from him with 
a force that paralyzed his arms. 
Great hands gripped about his 
throat. He felt no pain, only an un- 



bearable pressure as blackness closed 
in. The cry of the oncoming pack 
grew faint. “Kill! Kill!” Then 
even that was gone. 

V. 

SLOWLY consciousness came 
back to Coyne. Before he opened 
his eyes, before even he remembered, 
he was aware of little stabs of pain, 
stinging pains. They jabbed into 
his chest and legs; his whole body 
seemed attacked by little stabbing 
things. He moved restlessly, and at 
that the darts of pain ceased. 

A moment’s peace, then they came 
again; but by now he was awake. 
He knew that he was lying on a 
hard floor and that his body was 
bare where his metal robe had been 
pulled aside. Stab — stab! The lit- 
tle pricking pains were back; a chat- 
tering of voices was in his ears. 
Without moving he raised his eye- 
lids enough to admit a thread of 
light. 

Violet light, ever3rwhere. The 
walls glowed with it; the air itself 
seemed tinted with it. At first he 
saw nothing else; then, swarming 
about him, were little wizened men. 

Man-things that were not men! 
Dwarfs! They ran on noiseless 
feet; their clawed hands snatched 
at him, their sharp nails biting his 
skin. Blood trickled in hot lines. 
Like poisonous insects they darted 
in through the violet haze, stung and 
glided away. Suddenly Coyne 
jerked his legs under him and scram- 
bled to his feet. 

Screaming in shrill terror the tor- 
mentors fled. They huddled against 
a glassy wall like little hairless apes. 
After that first shrillness they fell 
silent, staring at Coyne from fearful 
eyes. 

Their skins were mottled like the 
big she brute’s; there were fifty of 



138 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



them, perhaps. Coyne passed them 
by with only a glance. His whole 
mind was clamoring for understand- 
ing. 

That big she beast had not killed 
him; she must have saved him in- 
stead. Why? And had the whole 
world been overrun with these half- 
human things? Could he escape? 
Where could he go if he did escape? 

A thousand questions, and no an- 
swer for any. His gaze swept on 
about the room. 

It was long and narrow. Walls of 
glass formed the sides — glass cast 
apparently in one piece and glow- 
ing throughout with the violet 
light. The room was a cell; one of 
many, perhaps, in a great prison. 
The front of it was a grillwork of 
bronze. 

He was near the front. Through 
the grillwork he could see in a vast, 
violet-lighted room rows of ma- 
chines. Wheels turned silently. 
Big female figures attended them, 
moving like ugly demons through 
the violet haze. And on the floor, 
swarming like vermin, were the 
young of this hideous race, utterly 
repulsive in their resemblance to 
humankind. 

Coyne drew a long breath as he 
turned away. The air had been vile ; 
now it almost nauseated him with 
the stench of putrid fiesh, and, for 
the first time, he saw that the floor 
was littered with strange debris as 
if destructive children had torn toy 
animals to bits. He picked his way 
over feathers and clumps of fur as 
he moved down the room. 

By now the stench seemed over- 
powering, coming in almost visible 
waves from the floor. And now bits 
of flesh and entrails among the litter 
gave mute evidence that these were 
no lifeless toys that had been de- 
stroyed. Understanding came to 



Coyne when, halfway down the 
room, something moved. 

Indistinct at first — then it was an 
animal, a dog. It got to its feet, 
stood wavering, then staggered for- 
ward. Blindly it dashed head-on 
against the wall and crumpled again 
to the floor. Its body was a clotted 
mass — horrible! Coyne saw it — then 
the man-things, little and beastly, 
came. 

Singly at first, then in a rush of 
dwarfed bodies, they darted in, tear- 
ing at raw flesh, leaping back, 
shrieking their delight at each sud- 
den spurt of blood. The tortured 
creature gave a shuddering cry that 
tore Co3me from the utter horror 
that had frozen him. An instant 
later he was among the swarm intent 
upon the ghastly play. 

His hands closed upon one of 
them. He swung the screaming 
thing in his two hands as if it had 
been a club. He cleared a space 
above the quivering body on the 
floor and at last flung his living 
weapon into the faces about him. 

“You damned little beastly apes!” 
The words grated through his set 
teeth. “How could evolution have 

ever produced ” Then he was 

stooping above their victim. Only 
kindness was in his hands as they 
brought quick death. 

SHRIEKS of rage made pande- 
monium about him. “Zeeten!” was 
the cry. “Zeeten!” Suddenly the 
uproar stilled. In the grillwork at 
the front of the cell a door crashed 
open. The big she that had captured 
him was entering. “Zeeten!” her 
great voice roared. 

She loomed hugely through the 
soft violet haze. She was taller by 
two feet than the ones in the outer 
room. But Coyne’s whole attention 
went suddenly to something she held 
in her hand — a silver ball. From it 



THE LONG NIGHT 



139 



a short rod projected. On the end 
of the rod was a disk. 

The pack was swarming about her. 
“The brant!” they screamed. “Zee- 
ten — the brant !” She sent them 
sprawling with one quick sweep; 
then she came toward Coyne. 

Coyne backed slowly away. What 
new horror was this — a silver ball, 
and a disk on a short rod? 

She held it before her as she came 
on. She did not rush him; she only 
followed while he retreated down 
the cell. He came to the end wall. 
Another grilled door was set in it. 
He felt the metal pressing against 
his back. 

The big beast came close. For the 
first time Coyne saw her clearly — 
saw on the muscles of one arm a 
brand. And, with that, he knew the 
meaning of the cries. 

A letter and a number — Z-10. It 
was seared on her left arm. And 
the man-things — the same mark was 
on them. Coyne’s eyes came swiftly 
back to the silver ball and the disk. 

The disk had grown red. It 
changed from red to orange; then 
it was white hot. In dazzling fire 
he read the inscription: a circle, 
and in it, reversed, Z-10. It was the 
brand of this beast and her own 
pack. 

He read more in the same instant. 
Here was the answer to his ques- 
tions. She had saved him for her- 
self ; he was to be branded with her 
mark, held here as a slave — or as a 
mate for this hideous thing. 

She was close, her ugly features 
contorted. Instantly, too swiftly for 
his eyelids to guard, she thrust the 
white-hot brand once at each eye. 
Heat seared his eyeballs, though the 
deadly thing did not touch him. But 
in that fraction of a second, while 
his eyes stung with the heat, Coyne 
saw a vision of himself as he would 
be. 



Blinded, helpless, he would lie on 
that filth-strewn floor struggling 
vainly. The man-pack would be 
tearing at him. Not killing him — 
he would be praying only to die. 
They would torture him as that ani- 
mal had been tortured! He got it 
all while the hot disk stabbed twice 
— then it was lowered. 

He had flung his left hand to his 
face. The monstrous thing whose 
gross body towered above him tore 
back the gold cloth from his arm. 
Coyne, trying to tear his eyes away, 
could see nothing but the brand. 
He saw it move forward. He felt 
the sear of it as it came close. The 
big beast was stooping. Suddenly 
Coyne drove his right fist squarely 
between the little savage slitted 
eyes. 

He knew it was hopeless; knew 
that he didn’t have a chance. He 
wondered dully, as his blow smashed 
home, at the beast’s shrill scream of 
fear — wondered, too, as the violet 
light enshrouding them changed to 
blazing fiery red. 

The red light came from behind 
him. It showed the body of Z-10 
as she fell in a paroxysm of pain. 
She pitched convulsively toward 
him with the brand still in her hand. 
Her weight was behind it as it 
plunged against Coyne’s bared arm 
— the smoke of his burning flesh was 
a quick spurt of gray. 

But Coyne never felt it. He could 
not. His whole conscious mind was 
too stunned by a new miracle. 

The red light flooding the room, 
the big beast and her loathsome pack 
in convulsions on the floor — all this 
was wonder enough. But Coyne, 
clinging to the grilled door with his 
right hand, had swung himself 
about. He was looking at the flam- 
ing spark from which the red light 
came. And, seeing beyond it, he was 



140 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



staring in total unbelief at the fig- 
ure of a girl. 

He was half blinded by the glare, 
and still he could see her holding 
the light. She was tall, slender; a 
robe of blue metal cloth climg to her 
body in flowing curves; below the 
dazzling point of light a bare sun- 
tanned leg extended ; above the light 
was one glimpse of a rounded breast 
and her face, white and bloodless in 
the red glow. 

She stood poised as if still run- 
ning. Her lips were parted. She 
said suddenly in a voice warm and 
human and vibrant with indigna- 
tion: “The homoid brand — on a man! 
You beast — you beast!” Then her 
eyes met Coyne’s. 

Dark eyes and lovely, dark as the 
waving tendrils that curled about 
her face. Her eyes locked with 
Coyne’s — held him. Her cheeks, her 
whole face, flushed swiftly. 

Coyne’s voice was hard to man- 
age. He said gaspingly: “A woman 
— a girl — ^here ! And that means 
there ” 

But the full meaning was too 
much for mere words. Coyne threw 
his whole weight against the grilled 
door. 

VI. 

IT WAS the girl, touching some 
hidden release, who opened the 
door. Coyne stumbled through, but 
he clung to the bronze while his 
knees sagged. To find human com- 
panionship when he had abandoned 
all hope was unnerving. 

The girl came close. She still 
held the little silvered rod whose 
end made a point of flaming red, 
but her other arm went about Coyne 
to steady him. Her own body, 
warmly vital, pressed against him, 
supporting him. She said in a voice 
that was tremulous with amazement : 

“But — but we thought, I and my 



people, that we were the only ones 
— we thought there were only the 
homoids left. The homoids cap- 
tured you, but — but where are you 
from?” 

Coyne could only say haltingly: 
“Homoids! Beasts like men! But 
your people — there are others — and 

you ” The lovely oval of her 

face was close to his; her eyes were 
tender with compassion. 

Back of him in the cell hideous 
things screamed and writhed or 
stumbled to their feet and ran. Be- 
yond, in the great hall, was pande- 
monium of shouting and shrieks. 

“Zeeten! Zeeten! Kill! ” But 

Coyne, looking only at the girl be- 
side him, hearing only the echo of 
her voice, said again: “And you 
are ” 

She drew away. Again her face 
was flushed. She said gravely: “I 
am Lorell. I came from far away. 
I saw the great sphere fall. Always 
my people have said that some day 
it would fall, then Koh-een would 
wake and save us. Tell me — have 
you seen Koh-een?” 

“Koh-een ” Coyne fumbled 

for a minute before he got her mean- 
ing. “You mean Coyne? I was in 
the sphere. I’ve been there a thou- 
sand years and more. I am Coyne.” 

She tore herself away from him. 
The silver pencil with its blazing 
tip fell from her nerveless fingers 
and clattered upon the hard floor. 
The red light suddenly was gone, 
and once more only the violet haze 
filled all the rooms. The girl was 
wide-eyed with unbelief — then she 
must have known. She flung herself 
at his feet, and her hands pressed 
tb edge of his golden robe to her 
lips. Half fearfully she raised her 
face. 

“Koh-een !” She only breathed it. 
“You are Koh-een, the one who 



141 



THE LONG NIGHT 




Desperately he ran for the sphere — and then stopped in horror at sight of 
the monster who barred the way. 






142 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



sleeps ! And you have come to save 
us!” 

From the cell and the greater hall 
beyond, the cries that had never 
ceased rose to a din of savage rage. 
Great bare feet, thudding on the 
floor, made an endless rushing roar. 
And the red light was gone! Coyne 
moved swiftly. 

He swept the girl to her feet. In 
the same motion he forced his left 
hand to snatch up the little silver 
device, though the burn on that arm 
was a living pain. He held the girl 
to him with sudden strength. 

“I’m Coyne,” he said, “but, as for 
saving you, those devils will tear us 
in two. The light’s broken. Come 
on ” 

He half carried her with his one 
arm as they raced away down an un- 
familiar corridor ; then the girl 
sprang ahead and gathered her blue 
robe about her. Her slender legs 
were tireless; her sandals twinkled 
as she ran. 

She called back: “Come, Koh-een; 
I know the way.” 

The corridor seemed endless. 
Death, coming on thudding feet, was 
at their backs. Lorell turned, dashed 
down a branching hallway to a 
smaller room, then into another 
passage. But the floor of this 
slanted upward, curving upon itself 
in a great spiral. 

The girl stopped suddenly. “I am 
lost!” she gasped. “I did not — come 
this — ^way !” 

Coyne was still holding the silver 
rod. The homoids might not know 
it was useless; it might hold them 
off. He reached for Lorell’s hand 
and ran on. “There’s only one way 
to go,” he panted; “that’s ahead.” 

THE SPIRAL ramp led always 
up. It cut through hallwajrs with 
interminable rows of rooms; floor 
after floor was left behind. The vio- 



let light had changed to a mellow 
golden glow shining from inlays in 
the walls when a burst of savage 
sound from the floor above showed 
that they were cut off. Behind them 
the spiral passage echoed to pound- 
ing feet and snarling calls. Beside 
them a wide corridor offered one 
chance of escape ; then even that 
last avenue was blocked as naked 
near-human things with mottled- 
brown bodies leaped into view far 
down the hall. 

Coyne, panting, staggering with 
weariness, half fell against a wall. 
Lorell stood looking at him. Hope- 
lessness was in her eyes and the 
droop of her lips; yet somehow she 
still hoped. Coyne read it in her 
look. To her he was Koh-een; 
surely Koh-een could save them. 

Somehow he threw himself from 
the wall. He gripped at her shoul- 
der. Twenty feet away down the 
corridor a door hung open half torn 
from its hinges. “Come on — 
quick!” he said. Then they were in 
the room. 

He did not try to close the door, 
hopelessly jammed with debris. He 
stopped dead, saw there was no other 
exit, then shot one swift despairing 
glance about. 

He was in a laboratory. Sunlight 
flooded in through sheets of glass in 
the wall. It shone on dust-covered 
equipment, on twisted coils, intricate 
apparatus of pure platinum ; it 
showed disorder ever}nvhere: even 
the tables were overthrown. But, 
against one wall, on serried shelves, 
objects which struck a familiar 
chord in Coyne’s mind were un- 
touched. 

of opa^^^m^M^^^^?^ — " 
been smashed on the floor ; after that 
the rest had been left undisturbed. 
Coyne’s hands were on them in an 



THE LONG NIGHT 



143 



instant; he whirled with a flask in 
each hand. 

The doorway was a solid mass of 
jammed bodies ; the room seemed 
bursting with the clamor of their 
cries. 

Coyne shouted to the girl: “Get 
back ! Come back here !” then hurled 
the flasks. 

Fighting, screaming things 
spewed in from the door. Co3me 
took the reagents as they came. No 
time for choice. His hands flashed. 
Flasks crashed in rapid succession 
on walls and floor. One broke 
squarely against the nearest homoid 
beast not ten feet away. Then 
smoke came. 

Brown and gray clouds! They 
made writhing misty folds about the 
homoids. Coyne got one strangling 
whiff as the girl reached his side. 
He choked: 

“Hydrofluoric — bromine — Heaven 
knows what else I A window — 
quick!” 

Lorell bent over suddenly. A 
wisp of brown haze had blown near ; 
she was strangling. Coyne reached 
for an autoclave on the floor. He 
raised it, hurled it through a win- 
dow, then dragged the girl with him 
as he staggered away. Then, after 
a long minute, still gasping, still 
choking, his throat cramped and 
afire, he felt a blast of pure air. 

He turned after a time. Lorell, 
trembling, one hand pressed to her 
throat, was able to stand. Coyne 
stared at the heaped bodies in the 
door where eddying fumes still blew 
out into the corridor. Out there the 
clamor had changed; choking cries; 
strangling, horrible sounds ; running 
feet, pounding away — then silence. 

Coyne said soberly : “That was 
damnable — but it had to be done. I 
think there was hydrocyanic in one 
flask.” Then he turned back to the 
shattered window. 



Roofs, in a flat expanse, were far 
below; there was no escape there. 
Coyne saw great metal arms that lay 
opened as if waiting some huge 
thing that they might embrace — 
waiting, after uncounted years. 
Others were closed about shining, 
cylindrical shells. Platforms were 
near. There were giant metal grids 
and great silvery spheres above 
them. Gleaming signal lamps 
caught the sun like great empty 
eyes. One battery of them still 
blazed ; even in the full sunlight the 
shafts of red and orange and green 
light were thrown upward like vivid 
flames. 

But wreckage covered it all; 
Coyne passed it by — for beyond it 
all, out where the buildings ended 
about a great open space, was a mar- 
ble hill; and on its top rested the 
sphere. 

The sphere! A hiding place! 
Sanctuary was there, safety for a 
few hours however brief. He saw it 
so plainly. Then, swarming in the 
avenues, racing across the slender 
fairy spans, were innumerable ho- 
moid shapes. Sbe-things! Beasts! 
They were searching ever}rwhere, 
hunting, hunting. They were be- 
tween him and the sphere. 

VII. 

UNTIL the coming of Lorell, 
Coyne had been living in a dream. 
Nightmare things had beset him; 
danger had threatened mysteriously 
on every hand. Now it was differ- 
ent. And most amazing of all was 
the ease with which he accepted it. 

The past was gone ; it was almost 
forgotten, so keen was the reality 
of this new life. But this was two 
days later when he and Lorell had 
left the city behind them and were 
following a great highway almost 



144 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



buried under encroaching vegeta- 
tion. 

The two days had not been pleas- 
ant. Only the food tablets that Lor- 
ell found had kept the two alive 
while they ran and hid and escaped 
death a score of times — ^mere hunted 
things, living only from one moment 
to the next. 

But, at last, deep in a maze of 
subways, Lorell had said : “This way 
I came, Koh-een. Now, I think, we 
are saved.” Then, stumbling 
through the dark, clambering 
through stalled cars, dimly lighted, 
in which mummified figures of men 
and women lay grotesquely, they had 
emerged where the subway became 
a skeleton tube close by a highway. 

The reality of it all no longer 
stunned. It was uplifting, glori- 
ous. The sun shone ; they were tra- 
versing a world gone back to primi- 
tive wildness; this girl, Lorell, was 

beside him. And ahead But 

Co3me could not quite imagine that. 

“The mountains,” Lorell explained 
— her accent was oddly fascinating; 
she stressed the wrong syllable at 
times ; her speech, while understand- 
able, was a delightful departure from 
the language Coyne had known — 
“my people live in the mountains. 
Beautiful mountains, too big for 
even the homoids to climb, but we 
know the way.” 

Coyne wondered about those 
moimtains; he wondered still more 
when their cloud-wrapped crags 
same in sight. This was only four 
days’ travel from New York. He 
scowled in perplexity until Lorell 
repeated what, to her, were mere 
legends. Slowly Cojme got the pic- 
ture of what had been 

A merging of nations into two 
great races, each covering half the 
Earth. In the two Americas had 
been people like himself and Lorell. 
But in the eastern hemisphere an 



Oriental race had overrun the lands. 
There had been wars, with armadas 
darkening the skies, then ripping 
that darkness to crashing, rending 
fiame — until wars were impossible 
since each half of the globe was im- 
pregnable. Then catastrophe had al- 
tered this equilibriiun of power. 

In North America — Coyne placed 
it all in his own words although Lor- 
ell used other names — earthquakes 
had brought devcistation. Mountains 
grew overnight ; the ocean swept in. 
And, when it receded and the earth 
quieted, only a fragment of the 
white race remained. Then the Ori- 
entals had come. 

Men like Tahgor, cold, brilliant 
scientists, cruel and heartless. They 
had destroyed; then they had re- 
built. When they were through 
only scattered bands of humanity 
whose skins were white instead of 
yellow were left in isolated parts. 
Contemptible bands, merely hunted 
for sport. And then, after many 
years, Tahgor’s race had gone. 

“The purple death,” Lorell said, 
as if this explained all. 

Coyne said softly: “A thousand 
years!” Much had happened in a 
thousand years. Then he demanded : 
“But the homoids — ^what of them?” 

But here was something Lorell 
could not explain. The homoids had 
always been; they were the slaves, 
the workers; and they had carried 
the purple death although they were 
themselves immune. 

She was leading over slopes that 
seemed impassible; she found nar- 
row passes that led through to more 
rock-strewn, rugged slopes waiting 
to be scaled. And, at last, a valley, 
hidden deep in the mountain ranges, 
lay before Coyne’s eyes. 

A little lake took the blue of the 
sky and became a sparkling gem in 
a setting of green fields. On its 
shore, heaps of twisted metal, like 
AST— 9 



THE LONG NIGHT 



145 



wreckage of airplanes, glinted in the 
sun. Squares of brown meant tilled 
soil ; rude huts were scattered among 
them. Coyne, looking down from 
the last high pass in the surround- 
ing cliffs, could even see tiny figures 
moving here and there. Suddenly it 
came to him that he was looking 
upon what was perhaps the last of 
his own race. 

Lorell said timidly: “It is home, 
Koh-een; it is all we have. While 
Tahgor lived our fathers’ fathers 
dwelt in caves — you can see the 
openings in the cliffs — ^but we have 
done better. Now, with you to 
teach us, who knows what we will 
do?” 

Coyne said softly: “Who knows!” 

His eyes were on the moving fig- 
ures. Abruptly he saw no longer a 
dying race but the nucleus of the 
race to come. Under his guidance, 
with what he could learn and teach 
them in turn, what could they not 
do? They could reclaim the world 
for hiunanity, no less! 

He still spoke softly, almost hum- 
bly: “Yes, Lorell; I will teach you. 
Whatever ability I have has been 
brought forward a thousand years 
for just that, it seems.” 

“If only the homoids do not find 




Some soimd, almost unheard, must 
have Bashed the fear to Lorell’s 
mind. Her words were bitten off by 
a scream from the narrow pass at 
their backs. Coyne, whirling, knew 
what it was; no other beast had 
screamed exactly as had Z-10. 

She was standing where a pro- 
jecting tooth of rock almost blocked 
the pass. For a second she was in 
full view, while the sun, hard with 
brilliance, picked out every horrible 
feature. Her little head was sunk 
between her shoulders; her huge 
arms were raised in air. She was all 
mottled yellow and brown, a scrag- 

AST— 1 0 



gle of red hair, an open toothless 
mouth and eyes that glared white 
with triumph. 

Once more came the hideous 
mockery of human speech. “Mine!” 
the cry tore the still mountain air. 
“Mine! Zeeten!” 

Coyne had the silver rod. He 
knew it was useless, but he swung 
it up. Z-10 dodged back. A mo- 
ment later came the thud of her feet 
pounding back down the trail. Z-10 
was gone — ^but she had learned the 
way. 

Below, in the valley, figures gath- 
ered. One among them wore a robe 
of gold like Coyne’s. Lorell said 
slowly : 

“The Master waits; I must re- 
port. I will tell him that I have 
brought Koh-een. But I must also 
tell him that I have brought — 
death.” 

In silence she led the way down 
the slope toward the peaceful val- 
ley she had called home. 

VIII. 

ON A PATCH of green turf 
Coyne paced restlessly back and 
forth. The sun, low in the west, 
threw long shadows from the trees, 
lances of shadow that reached out 
across a peaceful valley. They 
reached to the shore of a little lake 
where they dimmed the lustrous 
twinkling of a mass of twisted metal, 
the shattered aircraft that Coyne 
had seen; they pointed on toward 
the mountains that hemmed the val- 
ley on the east. 

Once Coyne stopped and stared 
fixedly where the shadows, like fin- 
gers of doom, pointed the way. Up 
there on the bleak slopes was the 
pass; a mass of color there meant 
men. Men, crowded together; men 
armed only with spears, waiting at 



146 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



the pass, guarding it, knowing they 
must die. 

They did not move, but other, 
darker blots were in motion. Big 
bodies, tiny in the distance, clung to 
other jagged pinnacles or fiimg 
themselves in enormous leaps among 
the rocks. The Brst of the homoid 
pack had reached the pass; they 
waited impatiently for the thou- 
sands that would come. 

Coyne turned and strode toward a 
cluster of maples. A man W 2 is there. 

' He stood erect, his handsome face 
set in grim lines, his eyes hard. A 
mass of blond hair, flung back and 
reaching to his shoulders, gave him 
the look of some prophet of Bible 
times. He wore a golden robe. Lor- 
ell had called him the Master. 

She stood beside him, as silent and 
motionless. Only her dark, trou- 
bled eyes moved, following Coyne’s 
every step, 

Coyne stopped and faced them. 
In a hard, strained voice he said: 
“There must be some way. You said 
that Tahgor’s people controlled the 
damned beasts.” 

The Master’s gare was fixed on 
the distant pass. He said : “It is the 
third day. This night the homoids 
will come. We had hoped for great 
things from you, Koh-een, but there 
is nothing to be done.” And after 
a pause he added bitterly: “We die 
to-night. Did men in your time 
know how to face that?” 

Coyne rasped out: “We didn’t 
quit. We kept on thinking and 
plannning and fighting.” 

The Master made no reply. 

Lorell said softly: “Think hard, 
Koh-een. Our men are brave. They 
will fight. It is only that we know 
this is the end — and we cannot plan.” 

“Forgive me — of course they’re 
brave. Men with spears facing 
those brutes!” But Coyne was not 
looking at Lorell ; his eyes were 



fixed on the wreckage beside the 
lake. 

“I’ve looked that over” — he was 
speaking more to himself than to 
the others — ^“but there's nothing 
there. Bones ! Twisted scrap I But 
if one of those machines would fiy 

It couldn’t though, after all 

this time.” 

Lorell caught up his thought 
sharply. “There is another, Koh- 
een; another ship of the air. I 
thought the Master ” 

The tall man broke in: “Quite use- 
less! The homoids would not fear 
a flying thing. They are long-lived ; 
they saw flying ships by thousands 
in Tahgor’s time.” 

But Coyne had sprung to Lorell’s 
side. He gripped her shoulders. 
“Take me to it,” he said. “If there’s 

a single chance ” Then he was 

running with the girl’s hand gripped 
in his. 

The Master followed more slowly. 
He joined them a half mile away 
beyond a little hill, where, resting 
on the ground in a cleared field, was 
a great bulletlike gleaming thing. 

A cylindrical body, perfectly 
streamlined, rested on an undercar- 
riage of curved bars. It was not un- 
like the planes of an earlier time — 
it even had a propeller at the front 
— ^but the wings, widespread on ei- 
ther side, were only a gossamer of 
silvery threads held in a frame. 
They gleamed as if newly made; 
their sheen was like that of the ball 
Z-10 had held, or the slender rod 
that Lorell had used. Under one of 
the wings Coyne strained at a door 
in the big rounded body. 

The Master said: “What can you 
do? Any minute my people at the 
pass will light the signal fire to tell 
that the homoids have come. I shall 
go and die fighting with them. The 
women will destroy themselves 
rather than suffer the fury of those 



THE LONG NIGHT 



147 



female beasts. Will you die with 
us or with the women, Koh-een?” 

Coyne grunted at a jammed lock, 
then with feverish haste seized a 
piece of metal that lay on the ground 
and forced it under the door. A 
moment later lie was pulling him- 
self up and into a big cabin. Lorell 
followed. 

He had expected complicated ma- 
chinery ; he found instead only a cyl- 
inder, solidly anchored, mounted 
back of the propeller. There was 
the pilot’s seat. In front of it was 
a single control, a handgrip on a 
vertical rod that made Coyne think 
of the old “joy stick.” On a small 
rheostat a lever was closed. All this 
back of the rounded glass nose of 
the ship. It was as if the big craft 
had landed only a moment before. 

Coyne felt it so strongly; it was 
as if some one had placed a weapon, 
cocked and ready, in his hand — this 
ship was ready to go. Then he saw 
a little heap of metal cloth near the 
pilot’s seat. From a fold a skull 
grinned up at him, and throughout 
the cabin were similar ghastly re- 
minders that for scores of years the 
ship had held only a cargo of death. 

Still he would not give up. He 
turned away, walked back a third 
of the cabin’s length and stopped 
beside two plates of green metal. 

THEY STOOD vertically, side by 
side. Each was an inch in thickness, 
not more than two feet high and 
twice as long. They were mounted 
in a framework of struts that spread 
fanwise to the body of the ship. 

Coyne wondered about those 
struts. He said aloud: “This thing 
took an awful thrust. It’s braced as 
if it held the whole load. We’re 
about at the center of gravity, too.” 
Then he shrugged his shoulders and 
went back to the bow. 

He felt of the loops of cable where 



two of them, red-coated, entered the 
metal cylinder. They were still 
flexible. But his hand dropped as 
he said despondently: 

“What’s the use? We don’t know 
what drove it.” 

Outside the door the Master was 
standing where he could keep the 
pass within sight. He told Coyne: 

“Our fathers’ fathers told that 
these ships were made to fly by elec- 
triceety. It came from the wings.” 

Coyne said in the same tired 
voice : “All right, it’s an electric 
drive. But just try to find any juice 
now.” 

Idly he touched the handgrip on 
the control lever and moved the 
lever from side to side. It moved 
stiffly, and somewhere in the ship 
dry metal joints of control surfaces 
creaked. He moved it to the right, 
then to the left; forward and back. 
He did not mean to lift on it; he 
had no thought that the stick had ' 
a vertical motion as well. But he I 
lifted 

Back of him scraping metal i 
sounded in the cabin itself. Still ' 
holding the control he swung , 
quickly and saw motion. In the 
middle of the cabin, amid their 
framework of struts, the plates were 
moving. 

They creaked and groaned as stiff 
joints let go. They spread apart at 
the top where big metal arms pushed 
against them. Jerking, protesting, 
they began to form a V — and sud- 
denly the whole ship shivered, tore 
free from earthy bed with a gulp- 
ing, sucking sound and surged irre- 
sistibly upward. 

Outside the open door, fields and I 
trees and little huts fell swiftly [ 
away. Lorell was on the floor. 

Coyne shouted : “The plates — I 
they’re lifting us! Negative gravi-| 
tation — it held the sphere — Tahgor j 
told me ” 



148 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



Then he caught his breath and 
pulled himself together. He forced 
his hand that seemed frozen to the 
handgrip to push downward, slowly. 

The plates moved back till he 
checked them part way. He moved 
the control delicately up and down 
until the ship was hanging in air 
while a wind at that high level whis- 
tled about it and set it to rocking. 

Coyne called to Lorell : “Sit tight. 
I’ve got the hang of it. And now 
— one miracle, why not two?’’ 

He was reaching for the rheostat. 
He was visioning some wizardry of 
science: silvery wings — a new sub- 
stance capable of directly transform- 
ing radiant energy to an electric 
charge. He swung the handle of the 
rheostat sharply forward. 

No groans or scraping of metal 
now. Inside that metal cylinder a 
motor had been lubricated and sealed 
for all time. With never a sound 
the propeller that had hung huge 
and gray and motionless outside the 
blunt nose swept into motion. 

In Co3me’s hand the flight control 
— the joy stick — tugged and pulled 
into neutral. The big ship flew 
slowly, then gathered speed and 
steadied. Mountain peaks showed 
ahead. 

But Coyne was confident. He 
knew now that those fragile wings 
had nothing to do with lift. They 
were not flying surfaces, but mere 
gatherers of energy. The green 
plates, under the upthrust of nega- 
tive gravitation, buoyed them up. 

Lorell, at Coyne’s side, was peer- 
ing ahead and down. She cried out 
something that was half a sob. 

Ragged, earthquake-gashed rock 
was below. Crags, canyons — and be- 
tween two great peaks where a trail 
mounted up to a narrow pass was a 
column of smoke. 

“The signal !’’ Lorell choked. “Oh, 
Koh-een, it means ” 



But Coyne was looking beyond the 
signal smoke. He could see the far- 
ther slopes that ran down into hid- 
den valleys, and he saw them alive 
with a writhing mass that fouled the 
clean hills. He swung the ship diz- 
zily and headed back. 

Below them the valley was peace- 
ful under the setting sun; but shad- 
ows from the western rim were 
creeping across it, slowly, surely, 
like the darkness under the wings 
of death. From scattered huts 
women in clinging robes came to- 
gether in little bands and moved to- 
ward the lake. The Master, a sin- 
gle figure in a shining robe, was run- 
ning toward the trail to the pass. 
He halted as the ship came down. 

Coyne helped Lorell to the ground 
and stood with one arm about her as 
the Master came up. His arm drew 
her close. Under her robe was the 
soft firmness of her body, vital, liv- 
ing — and soon she would be with the 
others. 

The Master said: “There is noth- 
ing you can do.’’ It was not a ques- 
tion. 

Coyne said shortly: “Nothing,” 

The Master’s voice was bitter. 
“Thinking, planning, never quit- 
ting; thus did the men of another 
age. But you have made the ship 
to fly — you have done that. Now 
you can escape. You can save your- 
self.” 

Coyne looked down into Lorell’s 
face raised to his. The Master’s 
words were true; he could escape, 
and he could take Lorell with him. 
He smiled as he glanced up and 
caught the Master’s hard gaze. 

Softly he said : “That’s something 
we didn’t do, either.” Then he bent 
and kissed the girl full on the lips 
while he held her to him in one 
trembling embrace. 

“Days — it has been only days,” he 
whispered before he let her go, “yet 



THE LONG NIGHT 



1A9 



it seems I have loved you always. 
I loved you from the first; I shall 
be loving you at the end ” 

She was still standing beside the 
great body of the ship, one hand 
pressed tightly over her heart where 
Coyne’s hand had been. And the 
shadows from the western hills gath- 
ered about her while she watched. 
Coyne did not look back. He was 
following the Master toward the 
trail that led to the heights. 

IX. 

COYNE, panting over the last rise 
at the trail’s end, saw the launching 
of the homoid attack. 

An open space, like an amphithea- 
ter, was before him, the narrow pass 
beyond. Men thronged the smooth 
rocky floor; others, spears slanted 
before them, blocked the pass. Then, 
from that narrow cleft, a wave of 
shrieking beasts crashed through, 
and the blood lust of their savage 
cries mingled with the shouts of 
men, while the setting sun’s last rays 
filled the amphitheater with a blood- 
red glow that made it like a pit from 
some deepest hell. 

Human bodies were hurled up- 
ward while great hands tore them 
apart in a deluge of spurting red. 
Spears rose and fell and slashed 
again as they were sent home. The 
amphitheater was a turmoil of hid- 
eous blotched bodies and of men 
who threw themselves desperately 
upon them, while the quivering air 
shuddered under the uproar of 
beastly cries and the shriller scream 
of some homoid as the spears found 
her and sent her hurtling to the 
depths. 

One instant, while Coyne and the 
Master stood spellbound; then again 
men were holding the pass while the 
melee raged at their backs. Coyne 
and the Master leaped in. 



One mammoth homoid had fought 
through. She sprang clear, and her 
leap brought her beside the Master. 
In the instant of landing she gripped 
the struggling golden figure and 
swung it in air. In the same instant 
Coyne’s hand closed about a spear 
beside a dead body at his feet. He 
thrust once outward and up. 

Piercing horribly through the 
pandemonium came the beast’s 
scream. The Master fell, rolled and 
came to his feet. A blotched body 
was writhing on the rocks. It, too, 
rolled, but toward the rim of the 
fiat-floored space. The mountain 
chasms seemed bottomless — her 

scream died swiftly away. 

But Coyne still stood in the atti- 
tude of thrusting the spear home. 
He could not move. He was frozen 
rigid by the battering impact of 
thoughts that the sight of that body 
had sent ripping through his mind. 

Was it Z-10? He could not be 
sure. But Z-10 had fallen like that 
when Lorell’s red light had struck! 
Red light! Lorell had found that 
one weapon — no others were to be 
had. Or were there? Red light! 
And infra-red rays! That was it! 
They couldn’t stand the infra-red! 
That was why the young and the 
males were kept in violet light. 
Infra-red ! 

Plashing thoughts; then a plan 
fully formed. Coyne shouted to the 
Master: “Hold them!” An instant 
later he was in full flight back down 
the trail. 

Down in the valley the big airship 
was a dark blur in the dusk. Lorell, 
standing as he had left her, was only 
a darker shadow. Coyne, running, 
gasping, choked out words: 

“I’m going — back ! There’s — a 

chance ” Then he had torn the 

door open and dragged himself in- 
side. 

“Koh-een!” 



Lorell’s voice, an- 



150 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



guished with a certainty she could 
not believe, reached him as he 
touched the controls. “Koh-een — 
leaving us! Oh, my dear one!” 

The great ship rose as if some 
giant hand had come from the Earth 
and thrown it bodily in air ; the pro- 
peller slashed the air in thunder 
that changed to a high, singing 
whine. 

But only the girl’s straining, tear- 
dimmed eyes saw it, watching the 
big craft clear the eastern peaks and 
vanish in a star-flecked sky. Coyne, 
in the blunt glass nose of the ship, 
one hand on the control, the other 
jamming the rheostat to the limit 
of its sweep, was seeing ahead the 
glow of a great city whose lights 
had shone unendingly through the 
long years to guide him this night. 

LIGHTS ever3Twhere. The city 
was a bewildering pattern of lines 
and circles and spiral curves woven 
to intricate, dizzying forms as he 
drove in above. But Coyne, flying 
high to escape any unlighted spire, 
handled the ship well. Back in an 
almost forgotten past he had held a 
limited transport license, and al- 
ready he had the “feel” of this ship. 

Far at one side a battery of sig- 
nals stabbed vertically into the night 
— orange ; red ; green. Coyne swung 
the ship and whipped down across 
a roof that was a tangle of wreck- 
age. He dared not land; instead he 
swept out toward the only open 
place he knew and set the ship down 
on the plaza. 

In a world silent but for some wild 
animal’s far cry he turned and ran. 
The sphere, dark and motionless, 
rested above him on the apex of the 
hill ; he left that behind and plunged 
into a debris-strewn avenue that led 
toward the signals, three vertical 
beams stabbing up into the black 
sky. 



He stood beside them at last- 
massive lamps, each mounted on a 
round base and a slender standard. 
The task of moving one was appall- 
ing, until in desperation he seized 
one, lifted it, and found its weight 
negligible. New metals! He flung 
himself upon the cables that led out 
to the lamps from a silvery dome 
and tore them free. 

Broken contacts within the dome 
flared into hissing flame; then the 
signals went dark. High voltage, 
Coyne was thinking grimly — heavy 
amperage surely — that was why the 
homoids had not disturbed them. 
Perhaps other lamps had wrought 
havoc in homoid hands — or the red 
glare might have held them off ; it 
was the same peculiar tint as Lor- 
ell’s light. 

Coyne was gambling on that. He 
was gambling, too, on the city’s be- 
ing deserted. The man-things were 
here somewhere — he did not fear 
them, but, as he staggered out into 
the open plaza, he was praying that 
every fighting she was with that hid- 
eous horde in the north. Then he 
cursed savagely through set teeth as 
the night air rang shrilly with the 
homoid cry. 

He was approaching the plane 
from the side, but still it was far 
away. He knew in one sickening 
moment that he could never reach 
the ship. Back of him not one but 
a score of throats were shattering 
the night. They were close. He 
turned and headed toward the sphere 
looming blackly above. 

He never let go of the lamp; it 
was across his shoulders though 
footsteps thudded close at his back, 
But, before him, the door of th# 
sphere was open — some homoid 
voice must inadvertently have 
spoken the word — and the inner 
room was aglow with light. One 
final effort flung him inside as a 



THE LONG NIGHT 



151 



great hand, smashing down, tore at 
his arm. 

One thought, one faint hope, still 
was his; it gave him strength for 
one last wild leap aside. He let the 
big lamp go to the floor, though even 
then he managed to break its fall; 
then he whirled, sprang toward the 
cabinet in the wall; and his hand, 
in one sweep, crashed down over a 
row of projecting keys. 

They were switches — he was sure 
of that. They might throw on 
Tahgor’s voice — these beasts had 
feared Tahgor — if only Tahgor 
would speak again 

He stood without moving through 
one long second. He even found 
time to read lettering above some of 
the tumblers. Voice control Tri- 

dimensional projector, but the words 
had no meaning. The first homoid 
was crouched. It sprang. And in 
the same instant the room rang with 
new sound. Tahgor’s rasping nasal 
voice came on full. 

It checked the beast in mid-spring. 
The homoid landed on all fours. At 
the doorway, where others had 
fought through and were jammed in 
the entrance, the screams of rage 
changed to a whimper of fear. Tah- 
gor was speaking: 

“The homoids will be new to you. 
In our laboratories we created them. 
The gene is the basis of life from 
the monogenic species of bacterio- 
phage to the polygenic species of 
the primate man. By influencing 
the gene, and by the transposition 
of chromosomes and subtler bodies 
within the fertile cell, we have 
evolved a new breed. There were 
failures, many of them — ^monstrosi- 
ties, others which could not repro- 
duce — but the homoids breed true to 
type. They have been ” 

Tahgor’s strident tones went on, 
and Coyne, standing rigid beside the 
cabinet, dared not move lest he break 



the spell. Then the first homoid 
straightened. 

The big she stared at the cabinet, 
then howled a wordless cry of deri- 
sion. She knew it was only a voice 
— and now Coyne had played his last 
card. 

HE HAD failed — it would be only 
a moment now — and his failure 
meant death to the last of his race 
on Earth. Lorell would die; with 
the others she would throw herself 
into the lake. Coyne, picturing that, 
knew suddenly that silence had come 
again. 

Tahgor’s voice had ceased; yet, 
close before Coyne, reaching, almost 
touching him, the homoid stood 
rigid with terror. She was staring 
past him. Back of her the others 
broke and ran. Insane with fear 
they screamed and fought in the en- 
trance, then were gone. The hands 
near Coyne’s face jerked away; this 
big beast, too, flung herself back- 
ward, and with a second leap had 
vanished. 

Silence then, utter soundlessness 
within the great sphere. Slowly 
Coyne turned. Not three feet away, 
arrayed in all the regal splendor of 
his kingly robes, Tahgor himself 
was standing. 

Tahgor! His yellowed, sardonic 
face was drawn into sneering lines. 
He was not looking at Coyne; he 
was staring past him, apparently at 
nothing at all. His lips moved — he 
was speaking: 

“By means of the tridimensional 
projection of my image I, Princeps 

Tahgor, come now ’’ Then 

Co3me understood. 

For a moment he went limp. To 
be saved now! To be saved by Tah- 
gor, himself! But he knew that he 
was looking through the image and 
seeing faintly the lights of the wall 
beyond. 



152 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



Tridimensional projection — mar- 
velous! Then he was snatching up 
the great lamp from the floor. 

He leaped through the doorway. 
Back in the magically lighted room 
the three-dimensional image of a 
dead ruler strode across the floor, 
speaking measured but meaningless 
words. Coyne did not hear ; his ship 
waited below him in the night; he 
was running. And later, only min- 
utes later, though each minute 
seemed hours in passing,, he was 
checking the terrific speed of the 
plane that ripped the air to protest- 
ing shrillness as it shot up and over 
the great crags of the valley rim. 

The little valley was below as he 
circled and dropped. Above encir- 
cling mountains a full moon had 
crept and was pouring a golden flood 
down the slopes. It showed tiny 
man-shapes running frantically 
down from the pass; a dark blur of 
figures near the lake was breaking 
into smaller units that raced toward 
the water. And at one side, sweep- 
ing down from the hills, poured a 
dark, solid sea — the homoids, from 
another quarter, had broken through. 

They stormed down from the hills, 
leaping across the bare fields as he 
shot past them and ahead. He 
landed on the shore of the lake, al- 
most crushing blue-robed women 
and girls who fled in panic from this 
new threat. But above their cries 
Coyne heard one glad voice. 

“Koh-een !” Lorell was calling. 
“My dear, my dear! I knew you 
would come!” 

But Coyne was busy. Carefully 
and methodically he was lifting the 
great signal lamp to the ground, 
working with tense, trembling lamps 
at a snarl in the cables until he 
cleared it and flung the cable ends 
back into the cabin. 

Inside the ship he tore loose the 
two cables that led into the motor. 



Their ends were frayed copper; he 
twisted them with the cable ends he 
held, sliced them, made sure that 
they hung clear of any contact with 
the metal ship ; then he switched the 
rheostat on full before he threw 
himself outside. 

He had expected a red glare; in- 
stead the lamp was dark. One ca- 
ble had pulled loose from the lamp. 
It spat orange fire as it lashed the 
ground. He leaped upon it. 

Shrill cries of terror filled the 
night. Women, the hoarser voices 
of men, and over all the dreaded 
scream of the homoid pack. Men 
and women were fleeing wildly ; un- 
real, moonlit figures on which huge 
snarling she-things leaped and bore 
them to the ground. Pandemonium ! 
A hell of sound and fury! Yet 
Coyne, reaching for the cable, knew 
that some one was beside him — one 
person had not fled. 

Then Lorell’s voice reached him: 
“It is the end. I love you, Koh-een. 
Let me die saying it. I love you, 
I ” 

But even then Co3me did not an- 
swer. He was on the ground, face 
down. He held the insulated cable 
in one hand. It crackled with white 
flame when the end brushed the 
lamp, but he saw the socket where 
that end belonged, and his other 
hand steadied the lamp as he 
rammed the cable terminal home. 

At its first contact a shock tore 
through him and jerked his whole 
body into a hard ball. His hand had 
slipped over the bared terminal; it 
was wrapped instantly in flame. 
But, above him, shooting out like a 
crimson scourge, was a red beam of 
Tight; and Lorell, grasping the big 
lens, was swinging it around and 
around. 

Leaping, agonized figures — she- 
things, contorted and horrible ! His 
bulging eyes saw them. Their 



THE LONG NIGHT 



153 



screams rolled over him in a torrent 
of sound. Then came silence but 
for Lorell’s sobbing voice. 

She still swung the big lens, but 
at last she threw herself beside 
Coyne and tore him away. 

“My dear — my brave one — you are 
not dead — you must not die! Don’t 
leave me now ! Koh-een ! Oh, Koh- 
een !” 

It was the last Coyne remembered. 

X. 

TO COYNE there came then a 
new experience. He could not de- 
scribe it, nor understand it. He 
merely knew it was so. 

A rushing — soundless, yet he 
heard it. A sense of being hurled 
at incredible speed — yet he was un- 
moving. Motion that had nothing 
to do with space ! A paradox ! And 
then he knew. 

Beyond any doubt of his mind he 
knew that he was moving along a 
new dimension — amoving in time. 
He breathed, and the tang of oxy- 
gen bit in his nostrils; and, after 
an interval not to be measured in 
hours but in days, centuries, he 
opened his eyes. He was in no way 
surprised to see the face of Pro- 
fessor Mellinger above him. 

Again Coyne was lying in the cas- 
ket, Mellinger stood beside it. An- 
Dther man’s face came into view — a 
ioctor, Coyne thought. 

The newcomer smiled as he said: 
‘Congratulations, Professor Mellin- 
ger!’’ 

Mellinger snorted. “The adrena- 
line did it — then the oxygen. You 
understand, don’t you, Coyne? I re- 
fused to be a party to your deliber- 
ate suicide.” 

Coyne did not move. He said very 
quietly: “Not suicide. But you are 
a party to it — you shall be — you have 



been. Tenses, past, present, and fu- 
ture, they are all one.” 

“Raving!” Mellinger said. 

The doctor leaned down. “Wake 
up,” he said, “but lie still. You’ll 
be all right now. Mellinger told me 
what you were trying — but this isn’t 
a bad time to live right now. Be- 
sides there may be a fortune in this 
discovery of yours — ^who knows!” 

Coyne said slowly, “I know,” and 
smiled. How unimportant it all 
seemed ! Then he looked at Mellin- 
ger. 

“Listen,” he said; “I will tell you 
what has happened — ^what will hap- 
pen a thousand years hence ” 

And after that he talked steadily on. 

“The big lamp,” he concluded, 
“had the same generating crystal as 
the little light. That means that 
the homoid menace is ended; the 
world will belong to humanity once 
more.” 

But his last words held a wistful 
note: “I would have liked to help; 
I would have liked once more to 
have seen — Lorell ” 

“Nonsense! Hallucinations!” It 
VTas the doctor sputtering. “But re- 
markable, really, in the clarity of 
detail.” 

Then Mellinger broke in. 
“Coyne!” he said. “I — I almost be- 
lieve! Just as you came to, it 
seemed for an instant as if you were 
wrapped in a robe — golden. I 
rubbed my eyes. Then it vanished.” 

For a moment Mellinger stood 
looking down, staring unseeingly, 
thinking. He said slowly: “I grant 
you, Coyne, the possibility of s]m- 
chronous existence of all events — 
the possibility, I say. Past, present, 
future — all one. And we, moving 
along the dimension called time, in- 
tersect them, I can’t grasp it. But 
I can’t deny it. If only there were 
proof ” 

Proof! Coyne thought of the 



1S4 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



countless tangible evidences, and not 
one of them had come back with 
him. Proof ! He was conscions sud- 
danl 7 of a puckered feeling in the 
Hesh of his left arm. 

He raised his two hands. His 
right tore at the left sleeve of his 
coat and at the shirt beneath it. He 
rolled the sleeves back and stared. 
Hopefully, fearfully — ^then he saw it 
was there. He raised his arm so 
those beside him might see. 

He gasped: “The homoid brand! 
Z-10 put it there. Look quick — it 
can’t last!” 

A circle — Mellinger saw it; the 
doctor saw it — and within the ring 
the mark of the beast. It was 
burned into the flesh. Yet, even as 
they watched, the flesh smoothed 
out, and only Coyne’s strong un- 
marked young arm was held trem- 
blingly aloft. 

He let his hand fall. He said : “I 
am going — going back!” Already 
the room about him was blurring. 
Mellinger’s face grew dim. 

Then the doctor was bending 
above. He said harshly: “Wake up, 
I tell you! If you go under again 



Then Mellinger threw the man 
aside. “It’s all right, Coyne!” Mel- 
linger was shouting. “I’ll go 
through with it ! Can you hear me?” 
Coyne spoke with difficulty 
through the haze that enveloped 
him. “You will need — to recharge 
— the oxygen ” Then darkness. 



and a rushing sound that he felt 
rather than heard. 

“Coyne!” Mellinger was calling. 
“Can you hear me, Coyne? I’ll fol- 
low instructions ” His voice, 

fading, became merged with another 
— until the new voice grew strong: 

“KOH-EEN !” the new voice said. 
A choking, heartbroken voice. It 
was calling to him — calling 

“My dearest one! You came to 
me out of the past. You can’t leave 
me now. We need you so, Koh-een. 
We all need you. And I — I need 
you most of all ” 

Her face was close above him 
when he dared to breathe, and his 
own cheeks were wet with her tears. 

In all the moonlit world was si- 
lence. Men stood near, but did not 
speak; women and children were 
clustered about. Motionless, silent 
— all but one who stood apart and 
wrapped his robe of gold about him 
while he wept as a strong man 
weeps, with terrible, throat-tearing 
sobs. 

Coyne took one long breath of the 
cool night air, then raised his arms, 
where, on one, the homoid brand was 
seared. He drew Lorell’s lovely face 
close and whispered softly. 

But even Lorell could not have 
grasped the real meaning of his 
words; even Lorell could never 
know how far distant he had been 
or 

“It is good,” Coyne said, “so very 
good, my dear — to be back.” 



NEXT MONTH 



The biggest announcement of the year 
will be made in next month’s issue of 
Astounding Stories. 




LetiGet 
Down to 



AN OPEN FORUM oTXONTROVE RSI AL OPINION 



Quarterly Wanted 

Dear Editor; 

The increase of pages to 160 makes 
Astounding Stories one of the finest val- 
ues on the market. This move proves, 
to me at least, that A. S. is honestly 
sincere in trying to give the readers a 
square deal. 

How about making science-fiction even 
more enjoyable? Put out a quarterly, 
for instance, that actually comes out four 
times a year. See what other readers 
think of the quarterly idea. 

The four best stories this issue were, 
in order: Rebirth, Man Who Stopped 

The Dust, Retreat From Utopia, and The 
Time Imposter. 

Born Of The Sun was too drawn out, 
very poor, especially by Williamson. — 
Louis Robert Adessa, 18710 Wyoming 
Avenue, Hollis, N. Y. 



We’II Try 

Dear Editor; 

The increase in the number of pages 
is a pleasant surprise. I am glad that 
Astounding is doing well enough to war- 
rant the change. 

The March issue is a dandy. Rebirth 
is the best in the issue, but I thought it 
ended rather abruptly. It would have 
made a fine book-length novel. 



The Man Who Stopped The Dust, and 
Born Of The Sun are aptly termed 
thought-variant stories. 

Please try to get Otis A. Kline and 
Edward E. Smith to write for you. — 
Jack Darrow, 4224 N. Sawyer Avenue, 
Chicago, 111. 



And Thousands Don’t Want 

Reprints! 

Dear Editor: 

Thought- variant stories ! They are 
strangely different. Born Of The Sun 
was the greatest yet. Let’s have more 
of such tales. 

Henry J. Kostkos’ Black Death was 
only fair, and the poorest in the March 
issue. Kostkos does not measure up to 
Wandrei, Coblentz, Schachner, William- 
son and Leinster — masters of science- 
fiction. 

160 pages — great! 

So far, Mr. Editor, you have been 
open-minded. What I am going to ask 
you now, though, will no doubt make 
you say, as all other editors before you 
have said: “No, I will not!” It’s — 

please reprint The Blind Spot. Thou- 
sands of fans beg you to reprint it. 
Please do. — Earl Perry, Box 265, Rock- 
dale, Texas. 



156 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



“Tripe" — with a Smile 

Dear Editor: 

Please accept this letter as a word of 
protest against the weak-minded arm- 
chair pseudo-science that is coming more 
and more to pervade your magazine. 
This letter would not have been written 
if I had not noticed in your Brass Tacks 
forum of March six letters which actu- 
ally lauded the alleged super-science mar- 
vel of the month, namely. Colossus. I 
remember reading several months ago in 
some “Reader Speaks” forum or other a 
letter in which, quite excusably, the 
writer mentioned the effect of velocity 
on the dimensions of the moving object. 
This effect is known in reputable scien- 
tific circles as the Lorenz-Fitzgerald con- 
traction. This theory and its mathemati- 
cal expression was necessitated by the 
failure of the Michelson-Morley ether- 
drift experiment. But that is another 
story. However, the fact remains that 
the writer of whom I spoke had the situa- 
tion reversed, calling contraction elonga- 
tion. Since the time I read that letter, 
I have noticed other letters from persons 
suffering from the same delusion. And 
now what do we have? A feature story 
whose basis is the same error. And peo- 
ple applaud it and call it great stuff. I’d 
call it just tripe, but consider it said 
with a smile on my face. 

I realize that it is not easy to get a 
good, juicy, gripping science-fiction story 
without a little stretching of the fancy. 
But if you are going to call the stories 
science-fiction, please at least put a little 
science in. Sort of a lubricant, if you 
get what I mean. 

Please appreciate the fact that I am 
offering constructive criticism. I like 
your magazine (when the stories are 
good). I believe you have many good 
authors, such as Jack Williamson, Stan- 
ton Coblentz and Nat Schachner, who 
present ideas in a way which does not 
insult your intelligence. Your magazine, 
I think, has a profound effect on peo- 
ple who have something to think with 
and do so. That is providing your sto- 
ries are worth thinking about, and they 
are for the most part. — J. R. Alburger, 
Swarthmore College, Pennsylvania. 



Mr. Wandrei's Reply 

Dear Editor: 

Mr. Alburger’s letter, which you have 
referred to me for an answer, is curious 
for its fantastic and irrational thinking. 



I have no quarrel with his failure to en- 
joy Colossus. If he did not like it, he is 
perfectly welcome to think so, and to say 
so. What mystifies me is his attack on 
the theories I used — solely because they 
differed from a theory he prefers! The 
Lorenz-Fitzgerald contraction is only a 
hypothesis invented to explain, as Mr. 
Alburger says, certain phenomena not 
covered by the Miche'lson-Morley ether- 
drift. There is not a shred of absolute, 
unquestionable, incontrovertible proof 
that the Lorenz-Fitzgerald theory is final 
and complete truth. I have no doubt that 
as science progresses, a basic hypothesis 
to explain all phenomena of velocity, di- 
rection, and relation will be evolved. I 
suspect that had I written a story some 
years ago and propounded the Lorenz- 
Fitzgerald contraction theory, Mr. Al- 
burger would have raised passionate 
objection because I did hot adhere to 
the Michelson-Morley theory ;"and I sup- 
pose that if the Lorenz-Fitzgerald theory 
is ever abandoned for a better one, Mr. 
Alburger will be just as insistent that 
writers cling to the new theory. There 
is a deeper question involved; whether 
readers want to be stimulated with new 
ideas, new conceptions, suggestions of 
scientific wonders and marvels to come; 
or whether, like Mr. Alburger, they wish 
to be limited to such scientific theories 
as are now held and generally accepted. 
So far as I can see, science-fiction would 
be devitalized if such limitations were 
placed upon it. Nor can I see any point 
in criticizing a story for presenting a 
theory that conflicts with a widely be- 
lieved but unproved theory. I am afraid 
that what motivates Mr. Alburger is not 
science, but dogmatism; and not imagina- 
tion, but actualism. The real scientist 
and the intelligent observer uses hypothe- 
ses and facts as stepping-stones toward 
additional facts and h3q>otheses until 
knowledge arrives at an unshakable 
truth. Mr. Albruger appears to prefer 
the precarious and dubious position of 
those who try to make fact conform with 
prevailing theory. — Donald Wandrei. 



More Brass Tacks 

Dear Editor: 

Allow me to congratulate you on the 
March issue of Astounding. Truly, it 
is the best issue yet. Believe me, there’s 
no better magazine of this kind on the 
market, barring none! This issue puts 
it right up at the top cf the list. 



BRASS TACKS 



157 



Brown’s cover is nice. The conclu- 
sion of Rebirth was a fitting conclusion 
to a great story. 

Williamson’s story is the best com- 
plete story in this issue, in my humble 
opinion, with Feam’s story a close sec- 
ond, and may I add that Schachner is 
one of the best authors that you’ve had 
as yet. 

Just one more little suggestion. Please, 
if it’s possible, put a couple more pages 
in Brass Tacks. 

Am glad to see another story by Wil- 
liamson for next month, and am I anx- 
ious to see what kind of pen Harry 
Bates can wield I — Olon F. Wiggins, 
2418 Stout Street, Denver, Colo. 



Answers Coming 

Dear Editor: 

I, like Charles Sankovich, whose let- 
ter you published in this month’s 
Astounding, am only fifteen years old, 
and I, also, am capable of throwing a 
few brickbats. For instance, in The 
Man Who Never Lived, if he never 
lived how could he tell the story? 
Black Death — a good story, but how did 
the doctor make his brain small enough 
to travel in the bloodstream of a per- 
son? 

Couldn’t it be arranged so that all of 
the advertisements are put in the back? 
Why not have smooth edges? 

I wish you would answer the letters 
you publish in Brass Tacks. 

Why not have at least one interplan- 
etary story in each issue? — Norman H. 
Borden, 32 College Avenue, Swarthmore, 
Penna. 

It Is! 

Dear Editor: 

In my opinion the March Astounding 
is easily the best yet. Your editorial 
policy must be one of constant improve- 
ment because this issue certainly con- 
stitutes a decided change for the bet- 
ter. You’ve increased the number of 
pages up to 160 and given us eight sto- 
ries which I claim is a real generous 
allotment of science-fiction for only 
twenty cents. 

The stories were every one of them 
good, with the possible exception of 
The Retreat From Utopia. Tell Wal- 
lace West to go back to his western 
stories. 

If I were asked to pick the best story 
of the issue, I think I’d choose Black 



Death by Henry Kostkos, mainly on ac- 
count of the nifty surprise ending he 
sprung on the readers. I thought it a 
very clever story. 

I enjoyed Born Of The Sun, the 
thought-variant for this month. I got 
a kick out of Williamson’s description 
of the monster emerging from the earth 
like a chick would from its shell. He 
knows all there is to know about the 
art of description. 

The Man Who Stopped The Dust was 
noteworthy for its concept of what a 
dustless world would be like. 

I think you could improve the maga- 
zine’s looks if you cut the edges even 
and trimmed the cover down so that it 
wouldn’t overlap the inside pages. 

Yours for a better-looking Astound- 
ing. — Robert Tufts, 61 Rathbun Ave- 
nue, White Plains, N. Y. 



Rebirth the Best 

Dear Editor: 

This is my first letter to you and all 
I want to say is that Rebirth by Thomas 
C. McClary is the best story I’ve ever 
read. — Kay Benton, 2636 Sheridan Drive, 
Norwood, Ohio. 

We Shall 

Dear Editor: 

I am one of the veteran readers of 
Astounding. I was glad to see it re- 
vived by a strong publication concern. 
Keep up your policy of broad-minded- 
ness and Astounding will forge ahead. 

Charles Willard Diffin is my favorite 
author with Harl Vincent a close sec- 
ond. I have yet to find a story I did 
not like in our magazine. 

Here’s hoping Brass Tacks grows big- 
ger.— Michael Racano, 51 Brookwood 
Street, East Orange, N. J. 



No More Cigarettes.^ 

Dear Editor: 

The illustration on the cover of the 
February issue was excellent. I like the 
contrast of the four major colors in it. 

The stories were also fine, but I think 
some of your authors and artists don’t 
stop to reason things out. For instance, 
in Vincent’s Lost City Of Mars, Kal 
Turjen, the Martian, is always reaching 
for a cigarette. I think that by the 22nd 
century, people will have banished ciga- 
rettes because of their effect on health. 

Also, the illustration for Space Flot- 
sam showed rocket vapors drifting lazily 



158 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



upward from the tubes of “Torool.” The 
reason gases or vapors rise is because 
they are tighter than air. Since there 
is no air in space, the vapors would trail 
out behind the ship. 

But that didn’t keep me from enjoy- 
ing the stories !— Otto Steinhardt, Belvi- 
dere. New Jersey. 



How About It? 

Dear Editor: 

I have been reading Astounding Sto- 
ries for two or three years now, and I 
have never found anything to complain 
about. However, there is something on 
the cover of the January issue that I 
wish to inquire about. 

In the story. Colossus, Donald Wan- 
drei says that Duane’s ship is going 
faster than light. If the cover is based 
on the story, then the two stars or plan- 
ets are not painted correctly. Each sec- 
ond that Duane goes forward in time, 
he is progressing backward in light. In 
other words, he is catching up on pic- 
tures of things that happened before. If 
this is so theil the two objects in the 
picture should be moving with the ship 
because he is seeing them where they 
were. In the picture it seems he is 
going in the direction they are coming 
from. This means that as he moves for- 
ward he gets the picture of the object 
which it was a second ago. 

If this hypothesis is wrong, I would 
like to see where. I am hoping this let- 
ter will be printed in the Brass Tacks 
forum. — Laurence Rothstein, 2604 Uni- 
versity Avenue, Bronx, New York. 



“A Long Groan” 

Dear Editor: 

Did some reader declare that the new 
Astounding Stories has actually eclipsed 
the old one? A truer sentence was never 
spoken! Astounding is, at this moment, 
the most formidable enemy ever arrayed 
against the other science-fiction maga- 
zines. 

The thought-variant idea certainly 
went a long way in accomplishing this. 
It most likely brought a long groan 
from your rivals. The idea is original, 
refreshing, and thoroughly entertaining. 

Besides the thought-variant stories, 
I’ve found all the other stories of high 
merit. 

In the February number: The novel- 

ettes were both excellent. Lost City Of 
SSars and The Living Flame v/ritten by 



two very good authors. I thoroughly 
enjoyed both. 

The four short stories were all just- 
the-way-you-want-them. All good. Short 
Wave Castle, one of the most entertain- 
ing; Space Flotsam, the kind you like to 
read, but rarely see; Scandal In The 
4th Dimension, amusing and interesting; 
Blind Reasoning, held my suspense till 
the last word, and I wasn’t disappointed. 

I am anxiously awaiting the conclu- 
sion of Rebirth, for I never read a story 
until all the parts are in my possession. 
It certainly looks good, by the comments 
and illustrations. — Raymond Peel Mari- 
ella, 5873 Woodcrest Avenue, Philadel- 
phia, Penna. _____ 

A Plea for Strange Tales 

Dear Editor: 

Rebirth is the best story I have read 
in a long, long time. Come to think of 
it, the March issue is the best issue you 
have yet published. And 160 pages, too! 
“The best for less,’’ eh? 

Colossus was the best story in the 
January issue. All the rest were good. 

I am glad to see Astounding back on 
the news stands, but why not revive 
Strange Tales? It was a good maga- 
zine. — J. H. Hennigar, East Tawas, 
Michigan. 

Thanks 

Dear Editor: 

I am not an old reader of Astound- 
ing, but find it living up to its name. 
Every story in the March issue was 
good. Let me name them in order of 
merit. Rebirth, Born Of The Sun, The 
Man Who Stopped The Dust, Black 
Death, The Man Who Never Lived, The 
Time Imposter, The Retreat From Uto- 
pia and Manna From Mars. 

Rebirth was superb. 

My sincere hopes for the continued 
success of Astounding. — Robert Lyman, 
Box 802, Akron, Ohio. 



We Hope It Won’t 

Dear Editor: 

I spent four enjoyable evenings read- 
ing the March issue of Astounding. It 
was the third one I read, but it won’t 
be the last. 

Here, in order, are the stories which 
appealed to me. The Man Who Stopped 
The Dust, Born Of The Sun, Rebirth, 
The Retreat From Utopia, The Time 
Imposter, The Man Who Never Lived, 
Manna From Mars, Black Death. 



BRASS TACKS 



159 



Can you continue the “Hawk Carse” 
series? Almost everybody enjoyed them. 
Why don’t you enlarge Brass Tacks? I 
don’t think the magazine could get along 
without it. — John Eremans, 315 West 
Fifth Street, Mt. Carmel, Penna. 

How About Characters in Rebirth? 

Dear Editor: 

Understand now, this criticism is in 
the friendliest spirit. Yes, I like the 
type of fiction you print, but I have two 
big complaints on which 1 am sure many 
of your readers will agree with me. 

Science-fiction, as such, is supposed to 
portray the unusual, the unique, the un- 
conventional, but so far, the social sci- 
ences have been sadly neglected. Char- 
acters are stereotyped; there aren’t two 
authors writing to-day who make real 
characters. Come now, is there any sin- 
gle character in your stories who stands 
out so that you remember him before 
you remember the story? I’m afraid we 
will all have to admit there isn’t. 

Those seem to be the only two weak- 
nesses of any importance. Plots? Get- 
ting bigger and better all the time. De- 
scriptions, scenes, settings? Why, we 
have more variety and more unusual 
ideas along these lines than the entire 
world of fiction had before. There is 
absolutely no limit to our range in this 
direction. But nowhere will you dis- 
cover a hero who is anything but a hero, 
usually a little lacking in common sense; 
a villain who is not 100%, simon-pure, 
run-of-the-mlne villain; a heroine who is 
anything but sweet, pure and good. 

Now, what is the trouble? Can’t we 
write characters who live? Are we all 
too narrow-minded to allow a little hu- 
manity and weakness in our heroes, a 
little feminine sinfulness and consequent 
interest in our heroines? We can un- 
derstand advances in science and art, but 
are blind to any advances in human re- 
lations, a subject too undeveloped to be 
classed as a science yet. 

Even I, a mere hammerer of brass 
(radio operator to you), can see that we 
lack something in character portrayal 
and the incidental dialogue, and I would 
even like to see a few stories on future 
moral developments, changing relations 
between the sexes, psychology in the fu- 
ture, etc., now and then. 

Getting back to Astounding. I think 
it is developing into the best of its type 
also with so many good authors con- 
tributing. The thought-variant idea is 



a good one. I notice that the science in 
most of the stories is woefully thin, but 
the adventures of the hero and his stooge 
are played up much after the manner of 
the flaming western magazines. 

I hope this letter will get printed even 
though it be more or less of a brickbat, 
because it will be interesting to get the 
reaction of other readers to my criti- 
cisms. — L. J. Stanton, U. S. S. Medusa, 
San Pedro, Calif. 



The Test 

Dear Editor: 

When conversing with various science- 
fiction fans of this locality, the discus- 
sion often became rather heated over the 
true meaning or definition of science- 
fiction. While reading the story. The 
Machine That Knew Too Much, all 
pieces of this puzzle seemed suddenly to 
fit together. A. T. Locke’s story is of 
the type which makes us say to our- 
selves: “Say, why can’t we make such 

a thing? With a little experimenting in 
the good old home lab oughtn’t we get 
the right dope?” So, what do we do? 
First, we look through our own books 
and notes, then we go to this or that 
library and we look through all the ref- 
erence books we can grab. Then we 
feverishly mix chemicals, manipulate 
wires and push switches until a great 
light begins to penetrate our skulls. We 
realize that the darn thing cannot be 
done either with our meager means or 
with any one else’s for that matter. So 
we just sigh and say that we’ll keep the 
idea in mind and maybe some day, if we 
can’t, some one else will. 

Now, all that a story has to do is to 
make me want to duplicate at least one 
of the ideas brought forth in it. If the 
story’s original, if it’s so realistic and 
plausible as to send me skooting down 
to the lab, or if present facts seem to 
indicate that the incidents of the story 
could be a logical outgrowth of present 
conditions, then, it sure is science-fiction. 

I would like to apologize for not re- 
plying promptly to all the nice letters I 
received as a result of my first epistle 
to Brass Tacks and also to announce 
that I have recently been appointed Di- 
visional Head of New York for the Cos- 
mos Science Club. All local fans inter- 
ested in joining are cordially requested 
to get in touch with me right away, per- 
sonally or by mail. — William S. Sykora, 
31-51 41st St., Long Island City, N. Y. 




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CHARLES ATLAS. Dept. 38-D, 133 East 23rd 
St.. N. Y. C. 



CHARLES ATLAS, Dept. 38 -D 

133 East 23 rd Street, New York City 

I want the proof that your system of Dynamic 
Tension will make a New Man of me — give me a 
healthy, husky body and big jnuscle development. 
Send me your free book, “Everlasting Health and 
Strength.” 

Name 

(Please print or write plalnlyi 

.\ddress 

City Slate 

C 19S-1 C. A L <J. 







THE HEIGHT OF GOOD TASTE 



NOT ihe top leaves— under-developei 
they are harsh ' 



t/iese are the Mi/dest Leaves 



The Cream of the Crtf. 



|~ On/y the Center Leaves. 

I Copyrttbt. US4. nm AjMrtcMi Tobwoo Comp^ 



NOl the^ jottom leaves— /Afyrtf inferior ii 
■ ijjihly— coarse and always sandy' 



ADVERTISING SECTION 




Now Himdrods Moro Priaet Being OiOHi 
ANTBODT MAT WIN 

Thla to our •ensBtioaal new w»y to Bdvertise — giTiiif ftway 
trig cash prues — beaidM thousands in EXTRA cash rewards. 
Vot a cant of your monay n—dad now or aear to win 



^ Can YOU Find 4 Dogs 

i in Pictitre Above? 

TeU me qoickl Some are upside down. Some look straight at 
you. Hanorads hara won big cash rewards in other campaigns 
conducted by men in this firm. Here are a few. Mrs. Kate 
Needham, a nousewife in Oregon won 44.70S. Ira Burroughs, past 
70 years old in a little Texas town won jU,770. Anna jacobcon in 
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a lottery. No luck needed. Hurry — get started quick by finding 
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cash rewards are being won every day. In ao^dition to giving 
Bulck 1 will pay 

$1,000^ EXTRA 

f»r PrwnptiMas 

to First Prize winner. Not only ona person, but huadfada will 
be rewarded. In case of ties, duplicate prizes will be given. Ail 
the money to pay prizes is in the Bankers Trust Co. at Des Moines. 
1 invite you to look us up through any bank in Des Moinea. any 
credit agency, business bouse, magazine, newspapa*. railroad. 



sio.OOO"'’ REWARD 



will be paid to any worthy char- 

, ity If anyone can prove that we 

do not really give away all these thousands of d^lars in cash 
prizes — or that all this pnze money U not on deposit in the bank. 

WRITE QUICK 

Band no monay, Mark dogs found, picture, mail qul^ 
write on penny post-card how many dogs you find. For 
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Ktrrold Johnson, Mgr. Dapt. 41» Das Molaas, lawn. 



Classified 

Advertising 



Detectives Wanted — Instructions 




DETECTIVES EARN BIO MONET. Great demand. Excellaot 


opportunity. Experience unnecessary. Particulars free. 
George Wagoner. 2640-P Broadway. New York. 


Wrlta 


1 

Patents and Lawyers 


PATENTS — Reaaonable terms. Free Book and adviC4. 
Randolph. D^t. 513. Washington. D. C. 


L, r. 


Song Writers 





' FAME AND FORTUNE htrs beso nisde from soogt through 
Ulklag picturas. radio, phonograph, music publishers. 
writsrt revise, arrange, compose music to lyrics, lyrics to yout 
music. We submit to studios and publishers. Free report. 

Booklet free. Universal Song Service. 676 Meyer Bldg., Holly- 
wood, Calif. 



T3fpewriters 



TyPEJWBiTER BABOAINS^-Oenuliie late model Underwoods. 
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231 West Monroe St.. CUcago. 



Male Help — Agents- Wanted 



MEN OR WOMEN! LOOK AFTER LOCAL COFFEE and Te« 
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Vlrglnll. 



Story Ideas 



STORIES FOB TALKING PICTURES— SUOAZINES bring 
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ING & REPORT. Experienced wrltera rarlaa. copyright a darelop 
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cantage atorlaa to Magaxines & Hollysrood Studloa. Sand tw 
FREE BOOKLEIT. Unlrersal Sconorlo Co., 453 Meyer Bldg.. 
Hollywood, Calif. 



yiease mention this_magazine_when_ answering advertisements AST — 10 •